


It's Raining Robins

by Sky_Warrior01



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, All the Dick Grayson tropes I could remember, Bruce is a good dad, Bruce is very confused, Circus, Clone hoarding, Clones, Court of Owls, Hacking, Joker is a good dad, Metahuman!Dick Grayson, Slade is a good dad, VPC - Villain Parenting Circle, Vegetables, just don't question it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_Warrior01/pseuds/Sky_Warrior01
Summary: Growing up as Bruce Wayne's ward, Dick always thought he was just a normal kid... or as normal as one could get when they spend their nights wearing a cape and fighting crime alongside a fully grown man who enjoys dressing up like a bat. However, when he stumbles across another version of himself just going about his daily life, Dick begins to realize that he is actually quite far from normal.He is a meta human, one with the ability to produce a specific number of clones, clones that he unwittingly created amidst the trauma of his parents' deaths. As the pieces slowly fall into place, Dick realizes that the intense migraines and sudden bouts of fatigue that he has been experiencing for years are in fact linked to his absent clones; clones who have developed their own unique personalities while scattered down drastically different paths.Will Dick be able to find them all? Will he be driven insane as he learns the lives that these versions of himself have lived? Will he be able to come to terms with his new identity as a powered hero? Read to find out!(Serious crack warning, this story is probably going to be insane. I do not apologize.)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	1. Prologue

Dick could feel the screams tearing through his throat, could feel the wetness of tears pouring down his cheeks, but the sounds were muffled and distant as he stared down at the broken bodies of his fallen parents, the sound of bones crunching replaying over and over again in his mind. He had watched them fall, had watched as their bodies hit the ground, had watched as blood pooled around their bodies on the ground below.

He was crying, screaming, hands shaking as he clambered his way down the ladder and raced toward his fallen parents. The crowd gathering around them was too large. There were too many people. He could not get through. All he could see were glimpses of their bodies, of his parents' lifeless eyes staring blankly out at him.

It was hard to breathe as Dick stumbled back, falling to his knees as he continued to cry. "M-Mami... T-Tati..." He sniffled, stammering out broken phrases in Romanian as he curled in on himself, anguish wracking his tiny form. People rushed around him, voices melding into a loud roar, no one noticing the tiny boy crying his eyes out on the ground.

Someone kicked him, and Dick whimpered, curling up tighter. He was distraught. Too distraught to notice when, one by one, other versions of himself began to appear around him, quickly swept up in the crowd and vanishing from sight.

The tears began to lessen as fatigue washed over him, but Dick remained curled up on the floor, even as the crowd around him slowly began to disperse, the initial panic subsiding as police took over the scene of his parents' deaths.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and Dick looked up, watery blue eyes meeting the concerned gaze of a man crouching down in front of him. "Hey there, bud. I'm Bruce Wayne. How about we get out of here, okay?"

Dick sniffled, rubbing at his eyes with one trembling fist. "B-but... M-Mami... T-Tati..." His shoulders shook as more tears began to spill down his cheeks.

"Shh... it'll be alright." Bruce said comfortingly, drawing the boy into his warm embrace, not seeming to mind as the bawling eight-year-old soaked his suit with tears. His hand stroked Dick's back soothingly. "It's okay. I've got you, bud."

Wrapped up in Bruce's arms, Dick cried himself to sleep, completely unaware that his unwittingly created clones were also finding their way to new homes... some far colder than his own.


	2. Ro-Dan meets John

“Robin, are you sure you’re feeling okay? You look kind of out of it.”

Dick grimaced, glancing over at Artemis with a weak grin. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a headache.”

Roy frowned. “You seem to be getting those a lot.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been to a doctor. Probably just related to growing or whatever.”

“You? Growing? Not likely.” Artemis snorted, earning a grown of annoyance from Dick. “Are you sure you’re up to the mission though?”

“Of course, I’m up to the mission.” He insisted, knowing full well that there was no way he could _not_ go on this mission. It was his idea, after all. Bruce and his older brothers were completely unaware of him taking the Team and heading to Europe in order to rescue his former Ringleader from possible criminal charges, and Dick was going to keep it that away. “Besides… we’ve already almost there, right M’gann?”

The Martian grinned over at him from her position steering the ship. “Yes. We should be landing soon. Maybe five minutes?”

Dick returned his gaze to the window of the bioship, trying his best not to react when Roy came stood and came to sit next to him. “What do you want?” He asked, not bothering to look at the redhead.

“Look, I know Bats didn’t okay this. Hell, I only agreed to come along because Hood would throw a fit if he knew I let his baby brother go on an unsolicited mission without proper support–”

“I have support. My team.” Dick cut in, earning a derisive snort from Roy.

“Your group of kiddie heroes does not count. You’re like a younger brother to me, Rob, you know that, but I seriously don’t think this is a good idea. Not with how out of it you’ve been lately. Hood told me Bats even pulled you from daily patrol.”

Dick turned then, eyes narrowing as he glowered up at the archer. “Our internal family matters do not concern you. I don’t care how close you are with Hood; he never should have shared personal information like that with you. I’m _fine_. Bats only pulled me because of a sprained ankle. Which has healed.” Sure, the sprained ankle had happened due to a sudden dizzy spell which had led to him falling off a roof and nearly breaking his neck, but Roy did _not_ need to know that.

Roy returned Dick’s glare with one of his own. “Now listen here, you little punk. I’m doing you a favor by coming with you. I know what this mission means to you. And I know that you didn’t tell anyone and even left Wally behind so no one could doubt your judgment, but I’m warning you now… you start showing signs of extreme fatigue or anything unusual, and I will not hesitate to call this into Batman and let him deal with you.”

“I am going to kill Hood when I get back.” Dick grumbled back, knowing full well that Roy was only being this annoying about it because Jason had no doubt told him about Dick’s strange health problems that only seemed to be getting worse. He understood that his family was worried about them, appreciated that worry in fact, but them telling others meant that things were getting seriously out of hand.

Fortunately for Dick, they landed before Roy could push matters further, and Dick hurried off the bioship, nostalgia hitting him hard as he gazed down at the colorful tents sprawled out in the valley below where they had landed. They were too far away for the music to reach them, but Dick could practically hear it already. This was going to be one very hard mission, but it would be worth it. Anything to keep the circus where his parents had died still going. They had loved that circus.

Turning to the Team, Dick forced on a grin. “Okay, we’re going to approach this like we’re an act looking to join the circus. M’gann, you and I will be on the trapeze. Artemis and Red Arrow, you two are our archers. Fancy shooting only. Superboy, you’re the strongman.”

“Sounds simple enough. We’re scouting for stolen tech, right?” Artemis asked, looking past Dick to eye the tents below. “Do we have an act name?”

“Stolen tech, yes. Hopefully it’ll be a pretty simple in and out mission.” Dick nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment at Artemis’ second question. “An act name would be good… siblings. We’re going to be siblings. Circuses love that kind of stuff. We need something risky sounding as a name too… Dangers. Daring Dangers. We can all have the last name Danger.”

Roy snorted. “That’s such a dumb name.”

“Doesn’t need to be smart. Just needs to be functional. Trust me on this one.” He insisted, brows furrowing in thought before he grinned. “Okay, first names are gonna play up the ‘D’ thing too. I’ll be Dan Danger, Red Arrow, you’re Dane Danger, Artemis, you’re Diane Danger, M’gann, you can be Dawn Danger, and then… Superboy… um… Dean. You’re Dean Danger.”

“Our names all sound the same.” Superboy grumbled, nose scrunching up in obvious distaste.

Dick just grinned. “Come on. It’ll be great. Just follow my lead.”

Somehow, it did in fact work out, and the Team quickly found themselves given a room in a train carriage and told that they could perform the following night as festivities were slowly dying down and people already returning to their homes.

So, as the rest of the Team settled in for their stay, Dick took the opportunity to wander off and explore, enjoying the familiarity of the circus atmosphere. It hurt, sure, but he honestly had not known how much he missed the bustle and chaos of the circus. It was amazing to be back in the middle of it again, to see people dressed up in outlandish outfits to perform rather than to fight crazy villains. Although, maybe fighting villains could be considered some kind of performance. Just depended on the hero.

Lost in thought, Dick payed little attention to where he was walking, simply ambling around the tents, taking in the sounds and smells that were so familiar, and yet so completely foreign. All things considered, it really was not much of a surprise when Dick bumped into someone, a soft grunt slipping from his lips as he fell to the ground.

He blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as he lifted his gaze to the other person who had also been knocked to the ground. Dick blinked again.

This person looked like him.

 _Exactly_ like him.

“Ummm…” He was, for once, at a complete loss for words.

The other him was most certainly not. “You really gotta watch were you’re going better. Seriously. We’re both performers… an injury is not something that anyone here wants.” He told Dick, standing up carefully and pushing his fingers back through his hair. Hair that was perhaps the main difference between him and Dick. It was on the left side, falling in a straight swoop to just below his chin. The right side was completely shaved, revealing glittering piercings that traveled up his ear. There had to be at least ten, and Dick could not help but stare. It looked… odd. To see someone who essentially was him but with a clearly different style.

Fingers snapped in his face, and Dick hurriedly scrambled to his feet. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m Dan. Dan Danger. We just joined up.” He offered his hand to the other male, doing his best to put on a friendly smile.

“Danger? Oh, Haly said something about your group.” Circus said, nodding slowly. He did not take Dick’s hand. If anything, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he was aware of the fact that Dick was not who he said he was. “I’m John Grayson.”

Dick stepped back at those words, shock hitting him like a tidal wave. There was no possible way that this… this _person_ was named John Grayson.

_It was his father’s name._

“I-I’m sorry. I need to go.” Dick mumbled, turning and hurrying back to the train. He needed to get away. Needed to figure out what the heck was going on. Needed to figure out why on earth there was someone who looked exactly like him going by his dead father’s name.

He ignored _John_ calling out behind him, instead focusing all his energy on just getting back. Maybe Roy would have answers. And if not, at least the redheaded archer could offer some familial comfort.

~•~

John watched with narrowed eyes as his lookalike ran away. What the heck was going on? Why did he have a sudden doppelganger? And why did his doppelganger freak out when he heard his name? This was suspicious.

Very, very suspicious.

Although tired and achy from his many performances that night, John slipped into his well-practiced sneak mode, creeping after Dan with all the grace and agility that he possessed. Which, to be fair, was quite a lot considering the fact that he had probably spent more time in the air than on land like a normal person growing up. Still did, honestly.

Climbing to the top of the train was easy; John had been doing it since before his parents died, after all. With practiced strides, he quickly made his way to the back of the train where the majority of the vacant rooms were. Typically, the longer someone stayed with the circus, the further up the train they moved, the carriages closer to the engine holding nicer rooms for the long-time performers.

John was one of those performers, actually being the longest staying member aside from Haly. Sometimes acts would drop out and then return after a break, but John had been with the circus ever since his parents’ deaths.

Not that Haly had known that he was there for the first few weeks though.

Terrified and alone, John had hidden himself with the elephants, sleeping with them at night and then hiding in another carriage during the day, scared that if he was found then he would be sent away. Unfortunately for him, he had caught a bad cold, and his hacking coughs had made it impossible to hide. But Haly had been kind when the eight-year-old was brought before him, simply welcoming the child into his comforting embrace and reassuring him that everyone had a home in his circus.

It had been hard, growing up in an ever-changing environment, especially when Haly was generally too busy to care for him as a parent would, and when the performers who had been around when John’s parents were slowly began to leave. Depressed and generally just _alone_ , John had found solace in his work as a trapeze artist, perfecting his family craft until he truly was one of the best trapeze artists in the world. People came far and wide to see him, not that John really cared.

Being on the trapeze made him feel free. It made him feel like he was flying. He loved flying, especially when he realized that no matter what he did, his flying could never end the same way his parents’ had. Because John could not die from falling. It would hurt, sure, but he would never die from it, no matter how bad the injuries were. He would always heal quickly too.

The first fall had been on purpose, after his first friend roughly his age had quit. The second and third were equally as deliberate. By the time it got to his fifth, John just stopped caring. If he could not an end by falling, at least he could find a reckless thrill from it. And that thrill gave him life.

Sneaking along the train roof, John could not help but wonder if his lookalike shared his inability to die. He wondered if maybe, the other boy was some kind of distant relation. It would be odd, considering John had searched for relatives and found none, but he would love to have a family again. Not that he was about to get his hopes up though.

He slipped down onto the platform of the last carriage, carefully pulling the door open and entering. Sure, he could have used the main doors and approached the carriage like a normal person, but John was not about that life. He grew up in a circus, after all. Extravagant was his thing.

Ears straining for unfamiliar voices, John tiptoed his way down the hallway, peaking into each and every window until, finally, he came to one that looked like it had been recently occupied. Haly had not mentioned any other new arrivals. This had to be where they were staying.

So, like the absolutely normal person that he was, John slipped out of the carriage and climbed back on top, carefully situating himself right above his lookalike’s room and waiting patiently for him and his siblings to return.

Ohhh. Siblings.

If they were the lookalike’s siblings, and the lookalike was actually some kind of relative, then that would mean that John would get that many more family members. This was going to be great if he turned out to be some kind of relative. And if not… well… at least he provided some entertainment. Even if John was saddened by the thought of not gaining a gaggle of strange siblings who he had yet to even lay eyes upon.

Of course, John was not one to stay still for very long, so he ended up trying to see how far he could bend his leg back, which naturally turned into him walking on his hands down the length of the train carriage, which then turned into him trying to stay up on one hand for as long as possible, which progressed into him doing cartwheels because why not, until John was even more tired than when he had started his stalking mission and the lookalike and his siblings were still not back. With a sigh and a pout, John settled back down above their room, curling into a ball and drifting off to a semi peaceful slumber.

The moon was still high when a loud thud jolted him awake, and John found himself being lifted into the air by a very muscular boy with short black hair and piercing blue eyes, eyes full of distrusting confusion.

John blinked at the boy, titling his head to the side. “Who are you?”

“I’m… um… Dean.” The boy… um… Dean… said, still looking very confused. “Why are you asleep above our room? And who are you?”

“I’m John. Your name is clearly not actually Dean.” John informed clearly not Dean, tilting his head to the side just a bit more as he blinked at him sleepily. “I sleep everywhere.”

Not actually Dean continued to hold John in the air, his own head tilting to the side in response to John’s. “Okay, but you look like Ro-Dan. You look like Dan. Why do you look like Dan?”

John started to swing in his hold, twisting his way out of not actually Dean’s grip and up onto the other male’s shoulders. “I dunno. Ro-Dan looks like me. You got any idea why Ro-Dan looks like me, not actually Dean?”

“Um… no, not really. Do you normally sit on people?” Not actually Dean asked, clearly still confused despite not making any move to push John off.

“Sometimes. People can be comfy. You’re comfy, not actually Dean.”

Not actually Dean sighed. “Conner. My name is Conner.”

John grinned, leaning forward and down so not actually Dean but Conner could see his smile. “Hello, not actually Dean but Conner. I’m John.”

“You said that already.”

“So? Introductions are important.” With a sigh, John flipped down from Conner’s shoulders, pushing his hair from his face and grinning up at him. “You’re one of the Danger people, right?”

Conner nodded.

“Sweet. Can you tell kind of me but also not me that I didn’t mean to scare him or whatever? He ran away…”

“He didn’t say that he’d met you.” Conner said, brows creasing into a frown.

John reached up, poking Conner’s forehead. “Frowns make wrinkles. Wrinkles are bad.” He instructed, lips twitching upward into another grin. “I’m gonna go to bed now. Was nice meeting you, not actually Dean but Conner.”

And with that, he flipped away, leaving a very confused young hero in his wake.

~•~

It was the next day when the rest of the Team caught onto the fact that there was a Robin lookalike wandering around camp.

“Wow… he’s amazing.” M’gann said, eyes wide as she tilted her head back to watch the boy swinging back and forth on the trapeze.

Dick had wanted them to practice their act before the performance that night, however, when they made it to the tent around midday, the trapeze was already occupied, the lithe figure of who Dick could only assume to be John flying through the air with such practiced ease that it was truly breathtaking.

The rest of the team was astonished, watching in awe as the boy performed series of extreme flips, aided by another performer who was clearly less superior in skill, something made all the more evident when the other person missed a catch and the boy fell into the net below.

“Come on, Reggie. You gotta be better than that.” John complained, rolling out of the net so that his partner could jump down too. He turned to look at Dick’s Team, one eyebrow raising. “You folks looking to get some practice in?”

“Yes. Um… John, these are my siblings. Dawn, Diane, Dean, and Dane. We’re the Daring Dangers.” Dick said, gesturing at the still awestruck heroes. “Is it alright if we practice, or are you still going?”

John snorted, waving Dick off. “It’s chill. And seriously, you don’t need to use the fake names if you don’t have to, Ro-Dan. I’ve already met not actually Dean but Conner.”

“Seriously?” Dick asked, turning to frown at Conner. “You told him your name?”

Conner rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “He figured out that it wasn’t actually Dean. What did you want me to do, not tell him? It would have been rude…”

“Conner, you know better.” Roy chided, although his eyes never left John’s face, suspicion clear in his gaze. “Your name is John? How long have you been with the circus?”

“You’re kinda rude. I don’t think I like you, probably not Dane.” John informed him, scrunching up his nose and moving to stand next to Conner. “You should be nicer to your siblings… even if they’re fake. Are they fake? You people don’t look all that related.”

Dick fought back a groan. This was a nightmare. “Look, it really is none of your business, okay? Now if you don’t mind, we’re going to train.” John was making him extremely uncomfortable. The other male looked _exactly_ like him. And his name… Dick shuddered. Something was very clearly wrong.

“Fine. Whatever. You guys do your training. The other trapeze act called out sick anyway, so you’ll have that open for at least a few hours.” John looked offended, but he did not comment on it, instead turning and narrowing his eyes at his partner. “Come on, Reggie. Let’s go find food.”

Reggie, a short brunette, nodded. “Sorry for messing up…”

John simply rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. We’ll do something fun instead.” He slung his arm over the other boy’s shoulders, and they exited the tent.

As soon as they left, Artemis turned to Dick, eyes narrowed. “We need to talk. Privately.”

Dick grimaced. “Right… right. Okay.” He had a sinking feeling he knew what this conversation would be about. “You guys just… get yourselves familiar with the equipment, okay?”

The rest of the Team nodded, although Roy still looked seriously on edge. Dick made a mental note to talk to him about it again later.

Artemis led him to a far corner of the tent, hands moving to her hips as she glowered at him. “Seriously? Do you see me laughing? This is not funny, _Grayson_. What kind of… how has no one figured this out? It’s so obvious.”

“Clearly not that obvious if it took me being in the same room as a doppelganger for you to realize.” Dick grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. “No one sees Robin and… and civilian me in the same room. And Bats has great alibis.”

“This is still so dumb. You… argh.”

Dick snorted. “If you think my disguise is obvious, you should see what Superman and Wonder Woman do.”

“Honestly, at this point I don’t even want to know. Hiding in plain sight… should have known after Oliver…” Artemis grumbled, clearly more irritated about not figuring it out earlier, with it being _so_ _obvious_.

“Not like you hide your identity well either, _Artemis_. Your hero name is literally just your actual name. Anyone with internet and access to google could figure you out.”

Artemis flipped him off. “Whatever. At least now I get the circus thing. You’re an idiot for doing this, by the way.”

Dick shrugged. “I know. We good now? We should probably get to training…”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. We’re good. But you are totally bringing me to your fancy mansion someday.”

“That can be arraigned.”

A rather loud scream sounded behind them, and both heroes turned to watch as M’gann stopped her fall by floating midair. Dick facepalmed.

“Dawn, no. There’s a net. Just… just land in the net for now.” Dick called out to her, hurrying back to the trapeze. “Come on, I’ll show you some basic moves.”

~•~

John did not see much of the newbies for the rest of the day, too focused on trying to get Reggie, a boy who had also only recently joined up, to trust him a bit more. After all, trust was vital when performing above a massive drop. Not that John could die from falling, but Haly had pointed out that him constantly plummeting to what could very well be his death was bringing down ticket sales. So, he needed Reggie to not drop him. The kid was not horrible, sure, but he was nowhere near John’s level of expertise, meaning that until he got better, John would be unable to perform properly on the trapeze.

Sure, single person performances were possible, but they significantly limited flips and other fun activities, and John was not about that boring life.

That and Reggie was starting to get on his nerves. The kid barely spoke and always panicked when John tried to sit on his shoulders. It was quite frustrating.

He had not even been able to perform that night because Haly wanted to give the newbies more audience attention. So, irritated and sleepy, John found himself once again curled up atop the carriage housing Daring probably not Dangers’ room. They were gone again, something that John found more than a little bit suspicious.

Especially with the cops constantly showing up and harassing people about things being stolen. The idiots clearly thought Haly had something to do with it. John knew better. It was obviously Ray the Roustabout who had joined mere days before the thievery happened. Not that Haly would believe him though.

So, with a yawn, John settled in to wait, wondering who exactly this new group of people were and why they were messing with his home.

He had drifted off to sleep after a while, only to be woken once again by Conner picking him up. Except this time, the muscular teen had picked him up like a princess. John grinned sleepily up at him. “Hello, not actually Dean but Conner.”

“You shouldn’t be sleeping up here. It isn’t good to sleep outside on top of trains.” Conner chided, still carrying John as he jumped off the roof and onto the ground.

“But you guys were gone. Where did you go?” He asked, titling his head to the side and pouting when Conner put him down. “You smell like smoke.”

Conner huffed softly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter where we went. No harm was done.”

“You look upset. That’s clearly harm done.”

“I’m fine.”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re clearly not, but okay… I’m in the second carriage from the engine if you want to talk.” He gave Conner a sleepy smile before turning to walk away, unable to fight the strange fuzzy feeling creeping into his chest. It felt nice to have someone care that much about his sleeping arraignments.

Weird, sure, but nice, nonetheless.

With a long sigh, John shook his head. He could not be thinking of stuff like that. Attachments just meant disappointment when acts inevitably moved on. He knew better than to let people in.

So, for the next day and a half, John went out of his way to avoid the Dangers, even hiding in his room and pretending to be sick when the time came for the circus to move towns. In fact, he successfully managed to avoid them long enough for Conner to come visit.

The pounding on his door startled John enough to make him unbalance, hitting the floor with a thump. “Ow…” He whined, rubbing his head as he pulled it open. “You distracted my one hand handstanding.”

Conner looked rightfully confused. “Sorry?”

John sighed, shaking his head and gesturing for Conner to enter the cluttered and colorful room, glittery consumes randomly lying about along with other miscellaneous items of clothing. “Ignore the mess. It’s always like this.”

“Right… um… okay. Are you doing alright? I heard you were sick.”

“Not really. Just… avoiding Ro-Dan. Dude clearly does not like me.” John said with a shrug, flopping down onto the floor to start picking up randomly scattered books. “I heard about a villain being busted for thievery. You got anything to do with that?”

Conner frowned. “He doesn’t not like you… it’s just confusing because you both look the same.” He pointedly ignored the question about the villain being caught.

“Yeah, well it is confusing.” John pushed the books under his unmade bed, flipping up onto it in one graceful motion. “Did you just come to check up on me because you thought I was sick?”

“No, actually… I wanted to tell you that we’re leaving after tonight. I… I didn’t think it would be right to just leave and not say anything, even if we don’t actually know eachother.” Conner looked down at the floor, unable to meet John’s gaze.

John did his best not to react to the news, teeth sinking down into his lower lip as he shrugged. “Right, okay. Well, thanks for telling me, I guess.”

The atmosphere had grown awkward now, Conner shifting uncomfortably on his feet as John plucked stray flecks of glitter off his blanket in an attempt to distract himself.

Conner sighed. “I… um… I’m going to go now. We’re performing tonight.”

“Right. Okay.” John nodded, keeping his voice emotionless as he watched Conner turn and leave the room. With a long sigh, he flopped back against his bed. This was why he did not let himself befriend the newbies. They always ended up leaving. This was his own fault, and yet… and yet he could not help but feel sad. Sure, he did not actually know any of them, but… but there was some kind of connection there. Some kind of link; some kind of missing piece of information that would make all of this fit together.

John groaned. He was just being stupid again. There was no need to get worked up over the new act leaving.

No, what he needed to do was get out of his room and perform. It was sure to help. It always helped.

He gathered up his necessary equipment and changed into his favorite performance outfit, a deep blue leotard with shimmery silver leggings, silver glitter wings spreading across the dark blue fabric which covered his back. Slipping on some sweatpants, John exited his carriage and went in search of the Ringleader to inform him that he would indeed be performing, solo, obviously considering the fact that Reggie was still quite horrible.

As was his custom, John snuck up behind the man who had mostly raised him, launching himself at him at the very last second, earning an annoyed groan from Haly.

“Hi. I wanna perform.” John chirped with forced cheer as he sat upon the elderly man’s shoulders.

“Get off me, you demon child.” Haly protested, although there really was no bite to his words. “You’re sure you’re feeling fine?”

John pouted but did as he was told and flipped back down. “Yeah, I’m sure. Solo trapeze and aerial stuff.”

Haly simply sighed. “We’re about to start… you know a bit more preparation would have been helpful, right?”

“Maybe… but I only just started feeling fully better. So, can I go on or nah?”

“Have you met Dan?” Haly asked instead of answering him, earning an annoyed look from John.

“Of course, I’ve met Dan. He doesn’t like me.”

Haly snorted. “You are a bit of a handful to deal with, kid. But he looks exactly like you. You got any secret siblings that I don’t know about?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Can I go on or not?” John asked, brushing aside Haly’s clearly confused questioning in favor of getting down to the more important topic. “Pleeeease? I’m boooored.”

“You bored is never a good thing.” Haly grumbled, shuddering in horror, probably recalling the last time John had declared his boredom and ended up dyeing the zebras blue. It had been a glorious occasion, although no one except John and the zebras seemed to think so. “You can go on before the Danger kids. Half an hour, okay?”

John grinned, nodding and leaning over to peck the older male’s cheek before running off. This was exactly what he needed. Performing was an excellent distraction for his abandonment issues, and so John poured all his focus into acting happy and energetic as he prepared for his performance.

In the backstage part of the tent, the Danger siblings were also getting ready, meaning that John had to put just that much more effort into avoiding them all. Unfortunately for him however, the avoidance game did not work, and, five minutes before he was set to go on, Ro-Dan approached him.

“Hey, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

John snorted at the question. “Right, okay. I’m fine.”

Ro-Dan looked offended. “I’m being genuine here. You seem… kind of off.”

“I’m fine. Just getting ready to go on.” John insisted, although the familiar ache in his chest was indeed starting to return thanks to the questioning. “You guys are really leaving after tonight?”

“Yeah… this is the last performance.”

John hummed softly, turning to stare at Ro-Dan thoughtfully. “What’s your real name? You’re leaving tonight anyway, right? It doesn’t matter if you tell me.”

Ro-Dan glanced back at his friends before nodding toward the edge of the tent. “Over there.” It was only a few steps away, but there was more distance between them and the other Dangers.

“Okay. We’re here now. Tell me. What is your name?”

“Dick Grayson. My name is Dick Grayson.”

The words were whispered, but they were still loud enough for John to know that he had heard correctly. _Dick Grayson_. He had not gone by Dick since he was a kid.

Was that shock hitting him like a wave of ice water?

Probably.

John stumbled back, eyes going wide as he stared at Ro-Dan… _Dick Grayson_. It was him.

Somehow, some way, the male standing in front of him was himself.

~•~

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, confusion clouding his features as he watched John back away. Sure, this was the reaction that he himself had had when first hearing John introduce himself, but something was not quite right about it. Something was off. So, Dick reached forward, his fingers clasping around John’s bare arm.

And then suddenly, everything changed.

It felt like a rush, sound and light blurring together into an indistinguishable roar as pain hit Dick like a load of bricks. But along with the pain came something else.

No.

Not just something else.

 _Someone_ else.

Memories flooded his mind, overwhelming him with their utter clarity and vibrance. Years of circus training. Performances. Falling. Making friends. Friends leaving. Sadness. Pain. Depression.

Dick whimpered, hands clutching at his head, struggling to process everything flooding into his mind. Where was it all coming from? _Who_ was it all coming from?

He barely had the awareness to notice that John was no longer lying on the ground in front of him. John had vanished.

“Robin? Robin, are you okay? What happened?” Someone asked, kneeling next to Dick even as he flinched back.

There was too much information. Too many memories that he should not have. Too many thoughts that did not belong to him, and yet… somehow did. His head was pounding, nausea coiling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to curl in on himself protectively.

Hands on his shoulders stopped him from moving, the vague sound of frantic voices like muddied whispers through the pounding blood in his ears.

“We need to get him to the ship–”

“Calling Bat–”

“Miss M. can you–”

He was lifted then, but Dick was too out of it to care, simply squeezing his eyes shut as the confusing memories and thoughts continued to assail his mind.

~•~

Dick groaned softly, blinking his eyes open with a grimace. While his mind was still reeling with confusion, at least he knew where he was. The Batcave. He would be able to recognize that craggily stone ceiling anywhere.

“Bruce?” He croaked out, throat oddly parched as he heaved himself up into a sitting position on the hospital-style bed that they kept in the corner of the cave. Eyes scanning the room, Dick easily spotted his mentor seated at the computer. What he also saw though was enough to make him wish he had pretended to be out of it for a little while longer. All three brothers also occupied the cave, all glowering at him in various states of anger and concern.

“Dick, what were you thinking? You know better than to rush off on some random mission without telling any of us.” Tim snapped first, the concern outweighing any possible anger that his tone could have held. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“It was fucking stupid. You’re lucky Roy was there. Apparently, your kiddie squad were running around like someone chopped their heads off.” Jason added, earning a glare from Damian.

“Todd, you have been told numerous times to stop sending Harper to infiltrate the Team. He is hardly the good influence those young heroes need.” Damian grumbled, earning rude gesture from Jason. “Richard, just because we agreed to let you hang out with your friends at the cave does not mean that you were allowed to go on random missions. In fact, you’ve been told numerous times that it is unsafe to do so, at least until we figure out what is going on with you.”

Dick shrank back under their stares, rubbing his forehead. “Can we save the lectures until later… my head hurts.”

Bruce stepped in then, standing from his chair and walking to Dick’s bedside. “Unfortunately, no. What you did was completely irresponsible and reckless. You could have put your teammates and civilians in jeopardy, not to mention your own safety. Regardless of that, however, there are more pressing matters now. What do you remember after you touched this… this ‘John’?”

Dick sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He did not want to talk about that. His brain was still processing all the strange new information, the strange new _identity_. “I… I don’t really know.”

“Something happened, Dick. Your reaction leaves no question there. Roy Harper said that it looked like the boy merged with you. That this boy looked identical to you in pretty much every manner, that he even said his last name was Grayson.” Bruce pushed, eyes searching Dick’s face.

Dick turned away.

“Like I said… I don’t _know_. I… he… there are memories in my head that weren’t there before. It’s like… it’s like a whole different life that I know I never lived, and yet… yet it’s _there_. Somehow, someway, it’s there.” He mumbled, grimacing as more pain flared in his skull. This was stupid, so, so stupid.

Especially since Bruce did not look all that surprised by his words.

Dick frowned.

“What do you know?”

“Not much. But I did test you while you were out… It’s honestly something that I should have done when you were a kid, and if not then, as soon as you started having your headaches and fatigue issues.” Bruce said, shoulders slumping as he let out a sigh. “You’ve got the meta gene, Dick. From that information compiled with what happened on this mission, it’s not too hard to guess that your abilities fall somewhere in the realm of clone creation. This ‘John’ was most likely a clone that you created at some point in time.”

Dick’s frown deepened at that information, fear suddenly creeping up his throat. Bruce only ever took in normal children. He did not mix with metas. Sure, he worked with them, but Bruce and all Dick’s brothers did not have powers. Not having powers was pretty much the Batfamily shtick. And so, Dick asked the only question that came to mind. “Are you… are you going to get rid of me? Now that I’m not… now that I’m not like you and the others?”

“Fucking hell. Dickie-bird…” Jason was moving toward him then, the other three males seemingly frozen at Dick’s question. Jason on the other hand… well, Jason looked mad. Still, Dick did not protest as Jason grabbed him, only a little bit startled to be pulled into a tight embrace rather than attacked. “No one is going to get rid of you, little wing. And if they even so much as think of trying, I’ll fucking shoot them.” His words were clearly a challenge to the other family members, and they worked.

Bruce too stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Dick’s shoulder as Jason pulled back. “Dick, I need you to listen to me, okay? We are not going to get rid of you just because we’ve discovered that you have powers. We… I would never get rid of you. You’re our family, alright? You’re the exact same person that you were before. We just know about your abilities now and having powers in the hero business is never a bad thing.”

Dick ducked his head, shoulders slumping in relief, even as he was pulled into another hug by Tim, his most affectionate brother keeping an arm around his shoulder even as he pulled back. “Just imagine how cool this could be, little wing. You’ve got _clones_.”

“But… but I don’t know how to use this power. I didn’t even know I’d created this one.” Dick protested, eyes suddenly growing wide as he turned to stare at Bruce, panic clear in his gaze. “What if there are more of them out there? How am I supposed to… how am I supposed to find them all again?”

Damian snorted. “We look for them. Obviously. Bruce and Tim already have a lead, someone that they’ve actually been keeping an eye on for a while.”

Dick blinked. “What? Really? Who?”

“You’ve heard of Deathstroke, right? There has been footage caught more and more regularly over the past few years of a boy about your age working with him. Some kind of apprentice, we’re guessing. One with your build and hair. One who uses a surprising amount of acrobatic skills for being trained by an assassin.” Bruce informed him, glancing back over at his computer. “It was odd before, and we were monitoring him loosely, but now… this could very well be a lead. Tim and I have been looking into it more seriously.”

Tim nodded emphatically, giving Dick’s body a squeeze as he grinned down at him. “Don’t you worry, little wing. We’ll find your clones. And we’ll do our best to help you learn to use your abilities. It’ll be great.”

“More than fucking great. It’ll be chaos.” Jason added in with an evil smirk, rubbing his hands together. “Just imagine… you could have a whole army of yous out there. The pranks we could pull…”

Dick smiled weakly, leaning into Tim’s side. “Right… well… I think just processing the new information from this one is enough… although… I think I’ve figured out something that could be useful. His memories are different after the night when my parents died. I got taken by you, he stayed with the circus. If there are others, that’s probably when they were made… or however this works.”

Bruce nodded, ruffling Dick’s hair fondly. “Thanks, bud. That is helpful. We can start by searching footage from that night. But for now, you need rest. Damian, can you help him to his room?”

“Yes, Father.” Damian gently pulled Dick away from Tim, supporting Dick as he stumbled and swayed, clearly still very much out of it.

“Wait… Bruce? Do you think… do you think finding them all will help with the headaches?” Dick asked, turning his head to look back at his guardian.

“For now, we can only hope so, yes.” Bruce gave him a gentle smile. “Go rest, Dick. You’ll need it.”

And so, Dick let his oldest brother help him to bed, where he quickly found himself in a dream filled sleep, reliving memories that were all to clearly not his own.

~•~

Back at Haly’s Circus, the old Ringleader was cursing his bad luck. Not only had his new acrobatic act abandoned him, but so had John, the best trapeze artist that the circus had ever had the fortune of housing.

To make matters even worse, Haly had a creeping suspicion that the acrobat he had practically raised had been taken not by a kidnapper, but by _himself_.

Haly was far too old for this job. 


	3. Orange and black

Dick did not know how long he had been running for. All he knew was that if he stopped, then they would catch him. Not that he really knew who _they_ were either. He just knew that he needed to run.

From what Dick could tell, there had been multiple different _them_ chasing him. First, there were the angry men dressed in black with the bright lights and shiny badges. They had yelled. They had yelled a lot, the noise beyond terrifying to the already traumatized boy.

When he had finally managed to get away from the ones who had chased him, Dick had no idea where he was. Everything was dark, too dark for him to be able to regain his bearings even if he did know where he was. Unfortunately for him, that was when his second pursuers gave chase, yelling words that he did not understand but knew better than to trust.

So, Dick had run again, bare feet slapping the pavement even as the heavy footfalls of the men chasing him echoed through the night. He only managed to escape by flipping up onto a rooftop where the men could not follow.

Exhausted both mentally and physically and with bleeding feet, Dick had curled up on the roof and fallen into a restless sleep. The next morning, he awoke shivering in pouring rain, his circus costume soaked through and torn in several places from his frantic running the night before.

His stomach grumbled, and so Dick descended from the rooftops in search of food, only to realize fairly quickly that the ground was not safe.

And so, he ran until he could once again make it to a rooftop, even if that meant enduring more of the torrential downpour. The rain continued into the night and into the next day, and by that point Dick was starting to feel rather ill. Cold, tired, and in pain, the boy knew that he needed to find better shelter, even if that meant braving the ground once more.

It would be easier to hide in the darkness, or so Dick had thought as he climbed down once more. He quickly realized that while he could hide in the darkness, so could _they_ , and _they_ knew this darkness better.

Dick ran until he was unable to run any further, his pursuers having disappeared in the maze of alleys behind him. Barely able to keep himself upright, Dick curled up on a semi comfortable pile of garbage bags, too tired to continue running. But, just as he had drifted off into the sweet oblivion of sleep, a rough hand had closed around his arm and harsh breathing had sounded in his ear.

And thus, Dick had found himself once again running, although this time he knew deep down that he would not get far. Each step hurt more and more, shards of broken glass and sharp stones digging into the soles of his feet as he stumbled around piles of garbage and other sleeping homeless.

Still, he kept running, kept pushing his body until his foot caught on an uneven piece of pavement and he went down, mouth opening to scream even as a hand slammed down over it, silencing him. He bit the hand, struggling frantically to get free, only to be rewarded with a harsh kick and then rough hands pulling him upward.

Through a haze of panicked tears, Dick saw that he was surrounded by a group of leering men, all watching him with hungry gazes that spoke only of pain. He whimpered when the grip on his arm tightened, harsh stubble grazing his ear as words were whispered to him. Words that he did not understand.

The men surrounding him laughed cruelly, eyes only growing more sinister as tears continued to trace down Dick’s cheeks. He was scared, absolutely and utterly terrified as the men began to drag him away, holding onto him with bruising force. All Dick’s struggles were useless as the men continued to pull him along with them.

However, just as he was about to give up hope entirely, Dick’s frantically wandering eyes spotted a dark figure on a balcony above them, cape and bat mask marking him clearly as a hero. Even without television, Dick knew about heroes. His parents had always told him that heroes were there to help. This hero would save him. He had to.

Even as he continued to be dragged away, Dick’s terrified and pleading eyes met the stony gaze of the hero, and, for a moment, his body relaxed in his captor’s hold. The hero had seen him. He would save him. Because that’s what heroes did, right?

Except the hero made no move to rescue him, simply turning away and disappearing into the darkness while Dick screamed out to him for help. He was thrown against a wall, body crumpling to the ground only to be grabbed and pinned against it, a rancid piece of cloth shoved into his mouth as a gag.

Rough hands tore at his clothing, ripping the costume that his mother had so carefully sew to shreds, cold biting at his exposed flesh as the sound of zippers being undone and pants lowering filled his ears. Panic tore through him, and Dick began to struggle harder, tears clouding his vision as more hands touched his body.

One of the men leaned in close, breath hot and putrid against Dick’s face as he spread the boy’s trembling legs apart, positioning himself in between, eyes dark and sadistic. The man let out an animalistic growl as his hips started to move upward and Dick tensed, trying to prepare himself for the pain.

Eyes squeezed shut, Dick did not see the sword that sliced neatly through the man’s neck, completely severing his head. Even as the jeers of the men turned into panicked cries and more pleading tones, Dick kept his eyes squeezed shut, body trembling as he slipped to the ground and curled in on himself.

It was only when a surprisingly gentle hand touched his cheek that Dick risked cracking his eyes back open. The sight that greeted him was one that he would never forget. Blood was splattered across the walls of the alleyway, severed limbs and broken bodies lying in disorganized heaps on the ground, and, kneeling in front of him, was a man like no other that Dick had ever before seen, with long white hair and one missing eye, the other a piercing blue filled with so much concern that it was truly overwhelming.

The man’s lips moved, and finally, finally, Dick heard words that he could understand.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re safe.”

Dick was unsure what had happened after the man had spoken to him, the memory hazy as exhaustion and shock finally caught up with him. All he knew was that the next time he opened his eyes, he was laying in the softest, most comfortable, bed that he had ever had the fortune of sleeping on. He was warm, comfortable, and, most importantly, he was not on the streets.

But, the mere thought of his time wandering the alleyways of Gotham City brought his panic back in full force. He could practically feel the rough hands on his skin and ripping at his clothes.

Oh no.

He was in a _bed_.

Dick whimpered, jolting upright and ripping off the sheets. He was clothed again at least, although that only brought on more panic. Someone had clothed him in his sleep.

_Someone had touched him._

He hit the floor with a thud, breaths coming in sharp, panicked, gasps as he scrambled back until he was pressed into a corner, eyes darting around the room wildly. Footsteps pounded in the hall and the door was yanked open and a rather disheveled looking white-haired man stepped into the room. Dick eyed him warily for a moment before the memories clicked into place.

This was the man who had killed his attackers.

The man spotted him on the floor and approached cautiously, one hand raised in what was clearly meant to be a placating gesture. Dick was not buying it. He flinched back, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he pulled his knees up to his chest in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

“It’s okay.” The man reassured, crouching down once he was only a few feet away from Dick. “I’m Slade. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dick blinked at him slowly, head moving in the faintest of nods.

Slade smiled softly. “Do you speak English?”

“Not good. Romani.” Dick whispered, voice cracking slightly. Now that the panic was slightly dying down, he was realizing just how thirsty he was. And hungry. So very, very hungry. His stomach rumbled, and Dick looked away, curling in on himself tighter.

“Would you like food, little one?” Slade asked, the question making Dick jerk his head up as he stared at him with wide eyes.

Dick knew what he was saying. He was… he was speaking Dick’s language. Dick sniffled softly. “Hungry.” He agreed, fighting back the sudden urge to cry now that he knew that he could actually communicate with his rescuer.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” Slade asked gently, gesturing toward Dick’s feet, which the boy only now noticed were wrapped in bandages. “It would be for the best if you stay off them for a while. To heal.”

Teeth sinking into his lower lip, Dick considered his options. He did not fully trust this man yet, but he had rescued him from the bad men. And his mother had always told him that heroes rescued people from being hurt. Therefore, this man had to be a hero, unlike the bat masked man who had ignored his plight. So, slowly, ever so slowly, Dick nodded, uncurling and letting Slade scoop him up into his arms.

Slade carried him carefully, like he was something precious and easily breakable, and Dick found himself relaxing in the other male’s arms, eyes scanning the new surroundings as Slade brought him out of his room and through what appeared to be a living room until, finally, they ended up in the kitchen.

Dick was placed on a chair, and Slade stepped away, turning his back to him for a moment as he moved about the kitchen before returning to the table with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

“It’s not much for now, because I want to see how your stomach handles it, but if you’re still hungry afterward, you can have more.” Slade told him, setting the plate down in front of Dick and handing him a knife and fork.

Dick did not need any prompting to eat, stomach still growling hungrily even as he set upon the food, shoveling it into his mouth while Slade chuckled softly and told him to slow down. He ignored him, fully intent on eating as much as he could as quickly as he could.

“Is this the boy?” An unfamiliar voice asked, startling Dick enough for him to drop his fork, the silverware clanking loudly against his plate before toppling to the ground. He whirled around, eyes widening as a strange man stepped into the kitchen, reaching toward Dick with what was probably meant to be a friendly smile.

All Dick could see was the leering grins of his assaulters. He whimpered, flinching back when the stranger moved in closer.

“Wintergreen, don–”

Whatever Slade was trying to say came too late. Dick had already launched himself off his chair and was under the table, eyes wide and breathing labored as he shrank away from the unfamiliar presence. Distantly, Dick was aware of the fact that his plate had fallen to the ground, ceramic shards and bits of scrambled egg littering the floor.

He could hear Slade curse, angry whispers sounding above him before Slade was suddenly kneeling down to look at Dick, expression hard and unreadable. He lifted his hand, and Dick flinched back, bracing his body for pain.

Instead of hitting him like Dick thought he would, Slade’s hand stopped a solid foot away from Dick’s body, a tiny dagger resting in his outstretched palm. Dick blinked at it, confusion furrowing his brows, quite the successful distraction from his frantic panicking.

“It’s yours, little one. If you’re ever scared, or worried someone will hurt you, I want you to stab them with it, okay? Even if it’s me or Wintergreen.” Slade gestured at the stranger who was hovering behind him in a clearly agitated state with his free hand. “Can you do that for me? It’ll keep you safe.”

Hesitantly, Dick nodded, reaching out a trembling hand to take the knife, fingers curling around the hilt as he brought it back in close to his body.

Slade smiled at him, gaze a mixture of both concern and gentle reassurance. “There you go. Now just remember. If you are ever scared of anything, that will protect you, alright? If anyone comes close to you or tries to touch you without your consent, stab them.”

“O-okay.” Dick clutched the dagger tight to his chest, finding comfort in the unfamiliar weight of the blade in his hand. He could protect himself. No one would hurt him again.

~•~

As the days went by, Dick grew more comfortable moving about the house, always clutching his knife in one hand or the other. His current favorite spot was the living room, where he could watch TV and learn new words to add to his English vocabulary. That, and the TV was distracting, keeping his thoughts away from his parents’ deaths and what had happened the night Slade had found him.

Huddled under a blanket, little hand curled around the hilt of his knife, Dick watched the TV, blue eyes narrowed as a tall, dark-haired, man dressed in a fancy suit began to speak, one hand resting on the shoulder of a blue-eyed boy standing next to him. A blue-eyed boy who looked incredibly like he did.

Slowly, Dick stood, keeping the blanket clutched around his shoulders as he tiptoed out of the living room and into the kitchen where Slade and the other man, Wintergreen, were talking. His approach was timid and nervous, but Slade still smiled down at him when Dick grabbed the older male’s hand, tugging him toward the living room.

Without a word, Slade followed.

The TV was still playing, although now it had zoomed in even further, focusing in on the boy at the man’s side. Text at the bottom of the screen continued to display a running stream of words, although Dick could only understand two. Richard Grayson. His name.

Dick pointed at the words, shoulders hunching up under the blanket.

Fortunately for him, Slade seemed to understand. “You and Bruce Wayne’s ward look awfully similar.” He murmured, moving closer to the TV, eyes narrowing suspiciously before he turned to look back at Dick’s cowering form. “Richard Grayson? Is that your name?”

Dick nodded. “D-Dick. Dick… Dick Grayson.” His words were broken and heavily accented, voice rough from lack of use.

Slade smiled warmly down at him, petting Dick gently on the head. “Thankyou for telling me, Dick.”

However, that was not what Dick wanted to tell him, or at least not all of it. “Don’t… don’t wanna be.”

“You… you no longer wish to be called Dick Grayson?” Slade asked for confirmation, confusion clouding his features. “What would you like to be called?”

Dick shrugged. He did not know the answer to that question. He just knew that he did not want the same name as that boy standing with the man in the suit. He did not want a name to remind him of what had happened to his parents. He did not want to think about his past.

“Alright then… would you like me to help you with a name?”

Dick nodded, clutching the hilt of his knife just a little bit tighter as the TV focused back in on the man in the suit. He did not like that man.

Slade noticed his change in behavior, quickly reaching for the remote and turning off the TV, the gentle smile never once leaving his lips as he crouched down to Dick’s level. “How would you feel about the name Renegade, little one?”

Dick blinked at him owlishly. “Regad?” He asked, brows furrowing at the clear mispronunciation of the word. “Rengad… Renade…” He scrunched up his nose, shaking his head. “Hard.”

“Right, of course. How about Ren for short?” Slade asked, tone tinged with mirth, his eyes holding so much warmth and comfort that Dick felt the urge to cry.

“Ren.” Dick… no. Ren nodded, lips quirking upward into the faintest of smiles as he let go of the knife for the first time since Slade had given it to him, launching himself into Slade’s arms.

Slade stiffened for just a moment before his arms moved to wrap around Ren, cradling the small boy to his chest as hot tears soaked into his shirt.

And, in that moment, Slade knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what happened, he would protect this little boy with his life. Because, right then and there, the little boy had become his life.

~•~

It was not hard for Slade to deduce the fact that his little boy was some kind of clone, or at the very least had clones out there. The mere presence of Richard Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne was enough to assume that much. With a little more digging, Slade had found others too, not that they really mattered to him.

No, what mattered to him was that his boy was happy and safe and had all that he could ever think to ask for. The child deserved that much after what he had been through, something which Ren’s nearly nightly nightmares prevented him from ever forgetting; not that he would have without them, but they certainly made him all that more furious.

“It’s okay, Ren. I’ve got you.” Slade said gently, fingers carding through the boy’s hair as Ren struggled for air, body trembling and eyes wild with old fear. “You’re safe. They’re gone. No one will ever hurt you again.” The words were both a reassurance and a promise. Slade would kill anyone who even so much as thought of hurting his precious child.

“Th-they… they fell.” Ren whispered, taking in a shuddering breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, clearly fighting back tears.

Slade tutted softly, tugging the boy into his embrace. “It’s okay to cry, little one. Just let it out. You’ll feel better if you cry.”

And so, cry Ren did, sobs wracking his body as Slade whispered soothing words and did his best to offer comfort. Nightmares about Ren’s parents’ deaths were rare. Or at least rarer than those of the traumatic incident that happened days after. They also were easier to help with, not that Slade really minded being there for Ren when he was clearly so distressed. It hurt to see the child so afflicted, to know that such horrible things had happened to such a young and innocent kid. If Slade could in good conscience wipe the boy’s memories of his bad memories, he most certainly would, but he knew better, and so he resigned himself to comforting the crying child.

As Ren slowly cried himself back to sleep, Slade began absently rubbing circles between his shoulder blades with his free hand, knowing all too well that despite his reasonable fear of unfamiliar touch, Ren was a cuddler, something Slade had discovered after a particularly bad nightmare fairly early on when nothing seemed to help calm him down and he’d eventually resorted to just… hugging the boy. The hug had worked miracles.

“Thankyou, dad.” Ren whispered, curling further into Slade’s side.

For his part, Slade had frozen at Ren’s words, hand stilling on the child’s back for a brief moment before he continued the movement, eye gazing down at the sleeping face of his son with pure adoration. “Of course, my child.” He murmured, voice equally as soft.

If his enemies were to see him now, they would be very surprised, if not horrified, at how soft the mercenary had become. Not like he cared though; his priorities had shifted.

Ren came first, simple as that.

~•~

“I want to learn how to fight like you.” Ren said, looking across the table at Slade who was trying not to choke on his coffee.

Wintergreen smirked, offering the mercenary a napkin. “Honestly, Slade. You shouldn’t act so surprised. You gave the boy a knife on his first day here.”

Slade coughed, taking the napkin with a glare before he focused his attention onto his son. “Are you sure that’s something you want to do? You don’t have to, you know. What I do is dangerous. I kill people, Ren. I don’t want you to start training and then feel like you need to follow in my footsteps.”

“You’re the one who said I need to be able to defend myself, right? That’s why you gave me this.” Ren lifted the knife from his pocket, the blade never once having left his side in the months that he had been living with Slade. “You can’t give me a knife and then not show me how to use it. At least show me how to use it.”

“He’s got a point.” Wintergreen added in, earning a grin from Ren. After the initial shock of his appearance had worn off all those months ago, Ren had quickly discovered how much he liked the older male, especially after Wintergreen instituted Disney movie nights every Wednesday and let him eat as much junk food as he wanted while watching.

Slade groaned. “I should never have introduced you two. Fine, fine. If you think it’s something you want to learn, I do think it would be a good idea to teach you. Just the basics to start though.”

Ren grinned. “Sure. The basics.”

As they continued breakfast in comfortable silence, Ren and Wintergreen exchanged knowing smirks. There was no way Slade was just going to stick to the basics, especially not if Ren pushed the matter. After all, Slade never was able to say no to Ren’s big blue puppy dog eyes.

They were right, of course. Two years later, and Ren had officially become the apprentice of Deathstroke the Terminator, going by his full name of Renegade.

~•~

“Dad? I’m bored.” Ren complained, draping himself over his father’s shoulders, piercing blue eyes focusing in on the older man’s computer screen. “Oooh. You got a job?”

Slade snorted, reaching up to absently pat the boy on the head. “Hi bored, I’m dad. This one’s going to be pretty easy. Just a simple mob boss assassination. You wouldn’t be interested.”

Ren pouted. “That’s what you said about the last one. And the one before that. And the one before that. _And_ the one before that.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. You want to go on a mission. I just…” Slade sighed, turning away from the computer to meet his son’s pouty expression with a raised eyebrow. “You know why I don’t want you going on these. Batman has been asking around about you. I’m worried that they’ve figured out who you are, or at the very least that they have suspicious.”

“I get that, but you can’t keep me locked away forever… it’s not fair.” Ren sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides… you said you’d never let them take me, right? I… even if Robin is the _original_ , that doesn’t mean they have any rights to me.”

Slade frowned, standing and wrapping a reassuring arm around Ren’s shoulders. “Of course, I’m not going to let them take you. I just don’t want them confirming that you are indeed who they think you are. After the health problems that have been noted in Robin, I highly doubt if they’d leave us alone to live our lives. I don’t want you caught up in that mess.”

Ren leaned into his father’s embrace, letting out another tired sigh. “I don’t get how they even found out about me and not the others. The others are so much more obvious.”

“Yes, well… Batman and I keep heavy surveillance on eachother. And you do have a tendency to be a bit too showy when fighting.”

“But the others _live in Gotham_. That’s supposed to be his city, right? This is so dumb. Batman is so dumb.” Dumb was one of the milder words that Ren had called the bat hero since discovering that he was the one who Ren had seen that fateful night. Nothing could excuse that horrible excuse for a hero’s actions.

“Yes, well, that is established.” Slade said wryly, fighting the urge to engage in a Batman bashing with Ren. Usually, they saved those for over Sunday dinner. Nothing quite like dissing Gotham’s Dark Knight over some homemade pizza.

Ren huffed, still not ready to give up on the mission quite yet. “What if I’m extra careful and just hang out as backup? I just want to punch someone. Maybe shoot them a few times. Would it be so horrible for me to get out of the house and shoot someone? I’ll actually listen to you this time.”

“That last sentence does not reassure me.” Slade grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Ren. “If I leave you, you’ll just sneak out of the house again, won’t you?”

“Maaaaybe.”

“Fine. You can come. But you’re staying in the shadows and if anything seems remotely off, you’re going to leave. Even if things seem fine and I tell you to leave, you will, got it?” Slade pulled away from Ren, making sure that the teen met his gaze. “If you so much as think of not listening, I will revoke Disney movie night for a month.”

Ren gasped in outrage. “You can’t do that. That’s punishing Wintergreen too. Wintergreen has done nothing to you.”

Slade simply shrugged. “My house, my rules.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever.” Ren stuck his tongue out at his dad. “When do we leave?”

“Brat.” Slade scoffed, lightly smacking Ren upside the head. “After dinner. Go tell Wintergreen, would you? I need to make sure all the ammo is stocked.”

“Sure thing, dad.”

Hours later, Ren was starting to regret insisting on going with his dad.

He had stuck to the shadows like Slade had instructed, waiting on a nearby rooftop as Slade took out his target. It was a boring job, just watching for any possible incoming threats, but still, Ren was determined to his best.

So, determined in fact that he failed to notice the group of heroes sneaking up on him until one of the idiots tripped over his trip wire and hit the ground with a hard thump. Ren whirled around, eyes narrowing behind his mask as he was met with the sight of four dark figures.

“Bats.” Ren whispered under his breath, finger grazing over the com in his ear. A muffled curse was all he heard before the line went dead; enough for him to know Slade was on his way. “You do know sneaking up on people isn’t nice, right?” He asked the heroes, tone full of as much cocky bravado that he could muster.

Nightwing shrugged. “Your master is off murdering someone as we speak. That can hardly be considered nice.”

Ren fought the urge to snort. _Master_. Yeah, right. These heroes really were idiots. Instead, he just shrugged. “Dude’s a mob boss. Probably killed enough people to make offing him no big deal. Sneaking up on an innocent civilian on the other hand… well that’s just mean. What if I got scared and accidentally fell off the roof?”

“You’re Deathstroke’s apprentice. Hardly a civilian.”

“Well in that case…” Ren smirked, unsheathing his sword in one smooth motion as he lunged at the nearest hero, Red Hood.

“Come on, kid. We know you’re a clone of Dick Grayson. We’re trying to help.” Red Hood snapped at him, barely managing to dodge Ren’s sword swipe.

“My name is Renegade. I don’t want anything to do with you.” Ren fired back, eyes narrowing behind his mask as he focused on remaining calm and collected. He could not panic. It did not matter if now he was certain that they knew who, _what_ , he was. He needed to focus on getting away. He needed to get to Slade.

Where was Slade?

The others were on him now, dark caped figures all but surrounding him. They were all there, all except Robin. Ren could not help but be thankful that the other version of himself would not be getting in the way. He would feel guilty if he was forced to try and kill himself, especially since he knew the other clones would suffer if the original was hurt badly enough.

“Put the sword down, Dick.” Batman ordered, tone hard and cold, cold enough to send chills racing down Ren’s spine as he backed toward the corner of the rooftop.

“ _Renegade_. My name is Renegade.” Ren insisted, looking anywhere but at the hero’s masked face. The face which he had seen so long ago, the face which had turned away as he was dragged off to be brutalized. “If you come any closer, I will throw myself off this roof.”

Red Robin snorted softly. “Look, we don’t want to hurt you, really, we don’t. But I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that you can’t die. That fall would just hurt you, but you’d survive. Just come with us, Dick… Renegade. We can help you.”

Ren took another step back, panic rising in his chest before he spotted a flash of orange out the corner of his eye. His shoulders relaxed, a small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. “I don’t need your help. Now, dad, if you’re done scouting out the situation, let’s take down these bastards and get the hell outta here.”

“I was hoping you’d be able to take at least one down on your own.” Slade commented, stepping out from the shadows behind Batman, guns at the ready. “But I guess I should thank you for leaving me some of the fun.”

“No problem.”

A shocked gasp sounded from behind Red Hood’s helmet. “Oh, fuck no. _Dad_? You called him _dad_? Bats, he’s been brainwashed.”

“Noted. We’ll have to work on that once we bring him in.” Batman agreed, turning his attention onto Deathstroke. “Slade Wilson. Relinquish the clone.”

“The _clone_ , as you so kindly put it, is my son. I am not about to hand my child over to the likes of you.” Slade lifted his gun. “Move away. _Now._ ”

The standoff exploded into action as Batman lunged in for the attack, dodging Slade’s bullets only to be met by the mercenary’s sword, the blade glinting in the dim light as Slade blocked and parried Batman’s attacks.

As for the others, they focused in on Ren, and he was more than happy to oblige them with a fight, blade deflecting Red Hood’s bullets as he sprang through the air. While he was certainly putting effort into fighting off the others, his main focus was getting to his father’s side.

Because Slade would keep them from taking him. Slade had promised to protect him and keep him safe.

Ren was almost there too when a hand closed around his wrist, and Ren cried out, fear pulsing through him at the unwanted touch. He lashed out, panic overwhelming his senses as he struggled against the hold, the unrelenting grip only serving to

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not trying to hurt you.” Red Robin tried to reassure, only earning a hateful glare from Ren as he struggled harder, Red Robin’s masked face blurring as it was replaced with shadows and a leering smile.

They were going to take him.

 _He could not breathe properly_.

Slade.

He needed Slade.

And then, Slade was there, yanking him away from the hero’s grasp and pulling him into his chest. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He murmured softly, too softly for any of the so-called heroes to hear as Slade backed them both away, gun held in his free hand and pointing dangerously at anyone who so much dared to step closer.

“Hand him over, Slade.” Batman demanded, voice harsh as he moved to attack once more, making Ren shrink closer into Slade. His father would not let them take him, right? Slade would protect him.

Slade always protected him.

Nightwing, who had been silent and oddly inactive in the fight thus far, placed a hand on Batman’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Father. Let them go. We took the wrong approach here. This needs to be dealt with more delicately.”

“Fucking hell. No. He’s brainwashed the kid. He’s brainwashed _Dick_.” Red Hood protested, aiming his gun at Ren, who was gripping onto Deathstroke tightly, face pinched and breaths heavy. An expert flick of the wrist was all it took for the gun to go flying across the rooftop. “What the fuck, Red Robin?”

“Nightwing’s right. We’re doing this wrong.” Red Robin said, clear concern in his tone as he glanced over at Ren. “I’m sorry, Ren.”

Ren did his best to glare back, despite the fact that it was growing increasingly hard to breathe.

They were going to take him away from Slade.

They were going to force him to be Dick Grayson again.

Dick Grayson had been weak; pathetic and helpless against the horrors of the world. Ren was strong now. It had taken him years to reach the point he was now. He could not… he would not go back to the pathetic creature that he had once been.

“We’re leaving. Batman, expect me to contact you later.” Slade growled out, one hand moving in soothing circles against Ren’s arm as he pulled them both back into the shadows and they disappeared back into the night.

They barely made it to Slade’s nearest hideout, a small apartment above an ice cream shop before Ren’s panic escalated into a full meltdown.

_Dick Grayson._

The words echoed in Ren’s head, despite how far away they had gotten. He felt like crying, panic rising in his chest as he clung onto Slade, refusing to let the other male go. Because… he knew all too well what the heroes knowing his name meant. It meant that they knew he was a clone.

_They knew._

_They were going to take him away._

“Dad…” Ren gasped out, voice breaking as his throat swelled with the need to cry, small tremors running through his body as he looked up at his father, once happy and vibrant eyes broken and dull.

Slade murmured a soft curse, quickly pulling Ren in closer, strong arms enveloping him as the tears started to fall. “Shhh… it’s okay. You’re safe, alright? I’m not letting anyone near you unless you agree to that. They won’t take you away.”

“B-but they know. They… they’re going to… they’re going to take me away a-and… and I’ll never see you again, and…” Ren shook his head, curling in closer to his dad as Slade began to gently pet his head, the touch soothing and reassuring.

“No one is going to take you, little one. I’ll figure this out. If Wayne won’t listen to reason, then we can just leave. We’ll move countries and go off the grid. I’ve done it before.”

“But your work…”

“I’m an assassin, kiddo. I can find work everywhere. And even if I can’t, there’s plenty of money stocked up. Enough to last for lifetimes if necessary.”

Ren found himself relaxing ever so slightly at Slade’s reassurances. Slade was not going to give him up. “Thanks, dad… I… I love you…”

Slade chuckled. “Love you too, little menace. Now let’s get out of all this gear, yeah? We can go down and get some ice cream.”

“Mint chocolate chip?” Ren asked, voice still wobbly and timid.

“Of course.”

~•~

To say that Slade was unhappy would be a major understatement. No, he was furious. Beyond furious even. Stupid Batman and his minions had scared his kid. The kid that Slade had spent so long working with to get to open up. The kid that Slade would do _anything_ to get a happy smile from.

Batman had made his son cry.

And thus, Slade had the very, very strong urge to murder the hero.

Unfortunately for him, rather than murdering Batman, he instead was meeting up with Bruce Wayne, both men dressed in normal civilian clothing with hats and sunglasses to further conceal their identities. After all, Bruce Wayne was very well known.

Slade glowered at him from across the small diner table, arms crossed over his chest. “You attacked my son.”

“He’s a clone of my son, and mine is not doing well. He needs to reabsorb his clones, otherwise he’s going to have serious problems.” Bruce grumbled, seemingly just as displeased with their meeting as Slade was.

“Do I look like I care about what happens to yours? Mine stays with me.”

“Yours is sustained by mine’s energy. What do you think is going to happen if mine runs out of energy and can’t sustain them anymore? Yours might actually die.”

Slade huffed, pulling off his sunglasses to better glower at the hero. “I’m not about to just give you Ren. From what I’ve seen, your Grayson does not seem capable of using his powers. If Ren merges with him, he might be lost forever.”

“He won’t be lost forever. From what we’ve seen with the other discovered clone, they can reform, memories and personality intact.”

Leaning forward, Slade steepled his fingers together. “Tell me about the other one.”

Bruce sighed. “He was at the circus. According to what Dick can make sense of his memories, he was with them since the parents’ deaths. Kid goes by John. Merging with him was an accident on a mission. He stayed gone until Dick just woke up morning and the clone was hanging from his chandelier and swinging around like a crazy person.”

Slade snickered, noting exactly how tired Bruce looked. “I’m guessing John’s a bit of a handful?”

“More than a bit. Alfred keeps on having to pull him down from the ceiling. The kid also likes climbing on people.” Bruce grumbled, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Look, I wouldn’t be trying to take your one if I didn’t have serious concerns about what will happen if they stay separated. Dick’s been doing badly for nearly a year now, and while finding John seems to have helped a bit, he still isn’t doing great. If you want your clone to continue living, I’d strongly recommend letting the reconnection happen.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a threat, Wayne.” Slade responded coldly, eye narrowing suspiciously. “I’m not going to force Ren to go with you. The kid doesn’t feel comfortable around most people, and I highly doubt he’ll agree to go anywhere near you, but I will discuss with him your concerns. I do not want my son to suffer because yours is weak. He’s already had to deal with randomly getting the flu thanks to yours.”

Bruce blinked, confusion clouding his features. “Wait… three months ago? He got symptoms?”

Slade frowned. “Yes, he got symptoms. It took weeks for him to get better again, thanks to your ineptitude as a parent. Also, two years ago when Joker nearly killed yours. I did not appreciate that in the slightest.”

“That was hardly my fault.” Bruce protested, earning a derisive snort from Slade.

“Whatever, Wayne. I would not trust you with my son in a million years. But, like I said, I will let him know. Although I seriously doubt if he’d agree to it. He hates you.”

“What? Why would he hate me? He doesn’t know me. Our first run in was the other day.”

Slade rolled his eye. “Of course, you’d forget. He saw you as a child. You failed to rescue him. Things could have gone very badly if I had not gotten there in time. Maybe I should thank you for that though… it gave me great satisfaction to kill his attackers.”

Bruce frowned, confusion written clearly across his face. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure he saw me?”

“Yes, I’m sure. The boy had more than enough nightmares about it.” Slade scoffed, repositioning his sunglasses on his face as he stood. “If he does agree to this, I will only warn you this once. You hurt my Ren, and you are dead. You cannot run. You cannot hide. I will hunt you down, and I will snuff out your pathetic life once and for all.”

With those final words, Slade stormed out of the diner, leaving a baffled and confused Bruce Wayne behind him.

He needed to talk with his son.

~•~

Ren was waiting for Slade when he got back, piercing blue eyes staring forlornly at the door. His lips barely formed a smile when his dad stepped through and into the house.

“He had something logical to say, didn’t he? I… I’m going to have to do it? You’re… you’re giving me away?”

Slade cursed, removing his boots and entering the living room, taking a seat next to Ren on the couch and wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “No. I would never give you away. Never. But he did unfortunately make sense.”

Ren sighed, nodding. “Tell me.”

And so, Slade did, telling Ren about the other clone who had been found and had merged with the original, along with the concerns over the original’s health and how that could affect Ren.

He stayed silent, letting all this new information sink in. It really did not seem like there was much of a choice, not if he wanted to continue living.

“If… If I do this… will I be able to see you?” Ren asked softly, searching his father’s face for answers.

Slade tugged him in closer. “Of course, you’ll be able to see me. I’m not about to let you go off with those idiots without some kind of insurance plan to make sure they don’t treat you poorly. You are hardly a possession to be traded and bargained with. You’re my son. If you agree to do this, I will work up an agreement with Wayne. You will have final say on it of course, and if he does not agree, then we will leave. Simple as that.”

Slowly, Ren nodded. “Right… okay. I-I… I want you to write up the agreement. If… if that’s okay.”

“Anything to keep you safe and healthy.” Slade murmured, fingers carding through Ren’s hair. “Enough of that for now… shall we watch a movie?”

“Okay… a movie sounds good.” Ren whispered, leaning into Slade’s comforting touch. “Thanks dad… for… for everything.”

Slade nodded. “Like I said. I would do anything for you, kiddo. You know that.”

Lips forming the faintest of smiles, Ren nodded. “I know.”

~•~

They had agreed to meet in one of Slade’s Gotham City safe houses, a fairly neutral space for both boys.

Still, Ren could not help but feel incredibly uncomfortable as he watched his lookalike from across the room, never once having left Slade’s side since he had agreed to this horrible idea.

Was it too late to back out now?

Just by the looks on his lookalike’s family’s faces, Ren knew that it was,

There would be no backing out.

“Hi… um… Ren. I’m Dick.” The other him spoke up, after what was probably ten minutes of awkward silence, clearly nervous about the whole situation.

Ren leaned closer to Slade, eyeing the other boy with equal nervousness. “Hi. Let’s just… let’s just get this over with.” He mumbled, turning to give Slade one last, tight, hug.

“At least weekly visits. And as soon as yours is stabilized, he comes back with me?” Slade asked quickly, eye meeting Bruce’s from across the room, keeping Ren in the hug as he confirmed one final time the conditions of this agreement.

Bruce nodded. “Yes. Weekly visits, and you can take him back once things are settled.”

Slade sighed, letting go of Ren. “I’m proud of you, little one. You’ll be okay.” He murmured, soft enough that the others would be unable to hear. Ren gave him a watery smile.

Struggling to fight back tears, Ren slowly reached stepped forward, his movement met by Dick’s as both boys outstretched their arms. His fingertips brushed against Dick’s before a strange tugging sensation overwhelmed Ren and his body disappeared.

~•~

Dick gasped at the flood of emotions that had come with the merger, sinking to his knees as he clutched at his head, struggling to make sense of all the new memories, all the new feelings.

There was so much _pain._

So much hurt.

Dick shivered, realizing distantly that he was sobbing, body shaking with the tears. A hand reached down, touching his shoulder, and Dick flinched away.

No.

Touch was not good.

Why was touch not good?

_Pain. Fear._

Looking up through eyes clouded with tears, Dick stumbled to his feet, tottering the few steps that it took to reach Slade. And then the mercenary was there, strong arms wrapping around Dick’s trembling body as he held him gently.

“There, there, little one. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Slade murmured, hand petting him gently on the head as Dick burrowed his face into his chest, tears soaking into Slade’s shirt.

Even as he found comfort in the mercenary’s embrace, Dick could not help but feel confused. Why was he hugging Slade? This man was a killer. A murderer.

Why was he so comforting?


	4. It's crying? Give it a cat

Dick stumbled, pushed and jostled about in the surging crowd, none seeming to care about the crying child in their midst. Eyes blurry with tears, Dick let himself be pushed with the crowd, not really paying attention to where he was going until the movement around him had come to a stop and he was left alone.

Still crying, Dick lifted his head, watery blue eyes taking in the darkened street what he was standing in. Fear hit him almost instantly, and Dick turned, eyes searching behind him for the familiar lights of the circus tents.

He could see them, flickering in the distance, and, with a choked sob, Dick turned back away, knowing that if he returned, all he would see were his dead parents. His family was _gone_. There was no place at the circus for him anymore.

He was alone.

With that thought, Dick broke into a fresh burst of tears, stumbling into an alleyway and sinking to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest as his small body heaved with grief. What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go? There was nowhere. No one.

Dick was just a single orphan, lost in a smelly alleyway and surrounded by garbage.

 _Alone_.

A sad meow sounded from behind a garbage bin, startling Dick out of his tears. He sniffled, wiping at his eyes and moving toward where the sound had come from.

“Hello?” He whispered, crouching down onto his hands and knees to peer into the dark gap between the dumpster and the building.

Another pitiful meow sounded, and Dick took in a shaky breath before squeezing himself into the tiny gap. Luckily, he was small enough to fit, even if just barely.

What he found there made him want to start crying all over again. Curled up in a dirty little heap was a clearly sick female cat, three little kittens curled up against their mother’s matted fur.

Only one looked to be healthy.

“Hey there, little ones.” Dick whispered, reaching forward and offering the mother cat his hand. She sniffed it hesitantly but made no move to attack. “I don’t have anything to help you… but… but I can try to make you warm.”

He scooted in closer to the cats, gently picking up the kittens one by one and situating them on his lap. The mother cat watched him suspiciously for a long moment before slowly scrambling up to her feet and staggering over to him. With careful hands, Dick helped her up into his lap, wrapping his arms around the cat as she curled around her kittens.

The cats smelled, but Dick did not care about that. Clearly, they needed help, and while he did not have much to offer, he could at the very least provide warmth. So, Dick did his best to move into a semi-comfortable position against the rough brick wall, ignoring how cramped the confined space really was.

As rain began to pour down, Dick was thankful for the small shelter that he had, letting exhaustion overtake him as his eyes slowly drifted closed, small body still curled protectively around the mother cat and her three bedraggled kittens.

~•~

“Why are we going this way?” Ivy complained, nose scrunching up in distaste as she eyed the piles of garbage.

Selina rolled her eyes. “I told you. One of my pregnant cats disappeared. She frequents this area, so we need to check for kittens.”

“I don’t know why you think we need more cats. There are plenty back home.” Harley grumbled, although she was eyeing the garbage with clear interest. “Can I keep one of the kittens?”

“You are not feeding it to Bud or Lou.”

Harley huffed. “Never said I was gonna.”

A soft meow sounded from behind a dumpster, and Selina grinned. “Looks like we won’t really have to be searching for long. Help me pull this back, would you?”

“Sure, sure. But I still want a kitten.” Harley insisted, earning an eyeroll from Ivy as they all heaved the bin away from the wall.

However, the sight that greeted them was far from what they expected to see.

“That is not a kitten.” Ivy pointed out, eyes narrowing at the child curled up on the ground, clothes filthy and hair an absolute disaster.

Harley took one look at the kid and squealed excitedly. “Ohh. What about the kid though? Can we keep the kid? I want the kid.”

“Harls, we can’t just go around taking random children.” Selina chided, kneeling down in front of the sleeping child as her lips quirked upward into a smile. “He’s keeping the cats warm.”

The boy shifted slightly, letting out a soft whimper as his eyes blinked open, confusion clear on his face as he looked up at the villainesses.

Ivy blinked back at him. “Look at those eyes. They’re so _blue_.”

“See? Ivy wants to keep the kiddo too.” Harley grinned, kneeling down next to Selina and holding out her hand to the kid, as if he was a stray animal.

The boy blinked at the offered hand, tilting his head to the side curiously. He spoke, but it was in a language that none of the women knew.

Selina frowned. “I think he’s lost.” She murmured, noting the boy’s puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. “Can I check on the cats?” She asked slowly, pointing carefully at where one of the kittens was poking it’s head out in the crook of the kid’s elbow.

Slowly, the boy nodded, uncurling enough for one of the kittens to start climbing his arm while the others simply remained curled up, clearly not doing well. The kid smiled at the kitten, picking it up gently and touching noses with the filthy animal. Purring happily, the kitten licked the boy’s nose, making him giggle.

Harley awed. “Come on, Selina. Just look at him. That was _adorable_. Please can we keep ‘im? Please?”

“He is very cute.” Ivy agreed, joining the others on the ground in front of the still very confused looking child. “Do you have a name, bean sprout?”

The boy blinked at her, brows furrowing together. “Name?”

Selina grinned. “Yes. You… name?” She asked, pointing at the boy as she said the word ‘name’.

“Dick.” The boy supplied, giving them a timid smile.

“Dick? He thinks his name is _Dick_?” Ivy looked horrified. “What kind of monster would convince a child that _that_ is their name?”

Harley’s generally happy attitude had also seemed to tone itself down as she narrowed her eyes at the child speculatively, her phycologist background making a rare appearance. “It’s hard to tell if he’s been abused. I mean… he is on the street. But from what I can see, there are no signs of physical trauma. But mental abuse can be equally as bad. Especially if he thinks _that_ is his name.”

Selina sighed, reaching for the mother cat, who let herself be scooped up. “We cannot just assume that the kid has been abused. Maybe his name is Richard or something. Dick is a nickname for that.”

“Shh. Don’t say that word around the child.” Ivy protested, glaring at her friend as she leaned in closer to the kid. “You come with us?” She asked hopefully, pointing from herself to the child.

The child did not look impressed by her question, simply shrinking further away, wrapping the squirming kitten up in his arms as he did so.

Harley frowned. “We can’t just leave him out here. He’s coming with us. Bud and Lou will love a new friend.”

“Fine, fine… I guess one extra kitten wouldn’t hurt.” Selina murmured, honestly not that against the idea, especially after seeing how the kid had protected and warmed the cat and her kittens. They probably would not have made it through the night without him. She had always been a sucker for rescue cats.

~•~

Dick blinked at the strange ladies kneeling down in front of him, fighting back tears as they took the cats from him. Were they going to hurt them? He did not want the cats to get hurt.

The lady with pigtails moved closer to him, speaking slowly, even though Dick really had no idea what she was saying. Normally his parents translated the English for him, even though he was trying to learn. It was just hard.

But now his parents were dead. They would never teach him English again. Dick’s lower lip trembled, and he sank his teeth into it, flinching away when the woman in the skintight suit reached forward in an attempt to take the kitten away.

“No. I… I safe. Kitten safe.” He protested, shaking his head vehemently.

“Yes. Kitten safe. You… you safe.” The lady told him, pointing to herself and then back at him.

Dick frowned. That made literally no sense. Was this lady trying to kidnap him? His parents had always told him never to go with strangers… even if the strangers did have kittens. Very, very cute kittens that Dick wanted to help keep safe.

The redheaded woman dressed in green sighed, reaching out a hand toward him. “You come. Safe. Kittens safe.”

This definitely seemed like a kidnapping. Dick shook his head, continuing to hold the kitten away from their reach. But then the mother cat let out a sad meow, which the kitten responded to, and Dick could not help but feel guilty. The baby needed its mother. It was not fair to keep them apart.

Dick felt like crying even more then, tears welling up in his eyes as he sniffled and very reluctantly held the kitten out for them to take. “Needs mom.”

Pigtail lady cooed at him, reaching over and patting his head.

Was patting people on the head normal here? Dick was honestly just so confused. And sad. He wanted to cry.

They were taking the kittens away. He would be alone again.

And then the tears really did start to fall, hot droplets hitting his cheeks as he sniffled and looked away.

The kitten was taken from his hands, but then the woman dressed in black moved forward, reaching for Dick and pulling him off the ground and into her arms. He honestly just felt too sad to protest.

Maybe being kidnaped would be okay.

Not like his parents were around anymore to get upset with him for it.

Dick cried harder at that thought, burying his face into the woman’s shoulder as he was carried away, the two others following with the cats cradled in their arms.

It was not a long trip to wherever his kidnappers were taking him, and soon he was carefully placed down on a couch and given a blanket. He curled up under the blanket, still sniffling softly. Dick missed his kitten friends, but when he looked around for them, they were nowhere in sight. Instead, a man with a very white face and green hair was staring at him, arms crossed over his chest and a wide smile on his lips.

Dick scrunched up his nose. The green haired man looked scary.

He started to cry again.

Heedless to the panicking villains around him, Dick continued to sob pitifully until, at last, someone placed a kitten on the couch next to him, the fluffy grey animal purring loudly as it waddled its way onto his lap and let Dick snuggle it close, eyes drifting closed.

Crying was indeed a very tiring activity.

~•~

“It’s a child, Harley. A child.” Joker whispered, eyes wide as he stared at the sleeping creature on the couch as if he was really not sure what he was seeing.

Harley huffed. “Yes, Puddin. A child. You made him cry.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to make him cry.” He protested, loud enough to make the others in the room hush him quickly. Joker huffed, sitting back with a pout.

Crane frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think what he means to say is _why_ exactly is there a child here? Where did you find it?”

“Behind a dumpster, obviously. He was protecting some cats. It was adorable.” Selina said with a shrug, smiling fondly at the boy. Anyone who protected cats was good in her books.

“Right… does he have parents? Shouldn’t we be looking for his family?”

Harley huffed. “He thinks his name is ‘ _Dick_ ’.” She whispered the word, nose scrunching up in clear distaste. “Whatever family he has, if he has any, doesn’t deserve to keep him after doing something like _that_.”

Riddler frowned, eyeing the sleeping child curiously. “So, what do you want us to do? We can’t possibly keep him.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” Ivy insisted, moving to stand closer to the sleeping child. “Clearly this young sprout has not received the proper care and attention necessary. There are enough of us here that we will be able to provide him with what he needs.”

“Sorry to break this to you, Ivy, but we’re villains. Criminals. We are not in any position to raise a child.” Crane grumbled, although he too was starting to feel an odd draw toward the sleeping child. He just… looked so fragile… Why did he feel like hugging the small creature? What a ridiculous notion.

Selina shrugged. “We found him. We’re keeping him. We can make a roster or something… so someone always is out to look after him. Think of it as a group pet.”

Nods and sounds of agreement sounded from the group, although all eyes were now focused in on the child who shifted ever so slightly in his sleep, curling up tighter around the kitten.

“I made him cry…” Joker mumbled, looking ashamed of himself as he stared down at the adorable little angel asleep on the couch. “How do I not make him cry?”

Harley looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Do we steal parenting books?”

~•~

Dick was honestly just very confused. What kind of kidnappers were these? They attempted to talk to him, not that he could understand most of what they would say, and then when he was unable to respond, they simply gave him things.

He had not really left the couch aside from bathroom trips since being placed there, and the space was growing very crowded. Blankets, random toys, candy, and pillows piled up around him, creating a nest-like situation where Dick sat curled up with his kitten and two others which had been brought to him.

Maybe this was some kind of cult?

They were certainly giving him offerings as if they perceived him to be some kind of deity. However, Dick hardly minded the presents and cats that were showered on him whenever he showed the faintest sign of distress. After all, he loved cats. Cats were great.

And, while he loved all of the little kittens, the grey fluffy one which had been given to him at first was his favorite. Her color reminded him of the elephant that the circus brought with them sometimes.

Oooh. That was perfect.

Dick lifted the sleeping kitten, nuzzling their faces together. “I’m going to call you Zitka.” He informed her quietly, giggling when her rough tongue flicked out to lick his nose. “We need to name your siblings too.” He ignored the intense stares of his kidnappers as he lifted the kittens one by one. “Your name is Cleo. And then you can be Leo.” Dick petted the tortoiseshell kitten and the orange tabby respectively. The kittens purred, making him smile.

If being kidnapped meant being given cats, Dick was totally for that idea. They helped keep his mind off the traumatic memories of his parents’ deaths. He was young, and thus easily distracted, especially when the woman dressed in black approached him, another kitten curled up in her arms.

Dick grinned, taking the offered cat from her grasp. “Rio. You’ll be Rio.” He told the cat, placing him gently down next to the others. He looked back up, brows furrowing in confusion. The lady was still there.

Normally they moved away again after giving him something.

The lady smiled down at him, pointing at her chest. “… name is Selina…”

“Selina?” Dick repeated, only able to understand that brief section of what she had said. Still, the lady, Selina, nodded, smile widening. Shyly, Dick returned the smile. “Hi Selina.”

An excited squeal sounded from the other side of the room and then suddenly the pigtail lady was standing in front of him, face mere inches away from Dick’s. Dick scrunched up his nose, shrinking back. She was kind of scary, in an overexcited child way. Maybe she would play with him?

Then the woman was talking, words coming fast in a confusing jumble that Dick completely could not understand. He frowned, lifting his hand to stop her.

“Slow… don’t… don’t know words.” Dick really was starting to wish that he had payed more attention to his parents’ English lessons, but back then there had always been something more fun to do. Like play with the elephants or swing from random high up places.

Still, the woman seemed to understand what he was trying to ask, nodding and slowing down. She pointed at herself like Selina had. “Harley. Me Harley.”

Dick nodded. “Harley.” He pointed at her as he said the word, before pointing at Selina. “Selina.”

Both ladies grinned down at him, nodding enthusiastically before Harley fled the room only to return moments later with a chocolate bar, which she handed to Dick.

Taking the bar from her, Dick gave them both another small smile, ducking his head shyly when Harley reached forward to pet him on the head.

Selina started talking then, but Dick simply shook his head. He really should have studied more English. She sighed, gesturing from herself to Harley. “We go. You stay.” She pointed at the couch.

Slowly, Dick nodded. His kidnappers had somewhere else to be. That was okay. He had the Zitka, Cleo, Leo, and Rio to keep him company. Selina seemed to be waiting for some other kind of acknowledgment, so Dick lifted one hand to wave. “I stay. You go. Bye.”

Harley beamed at him, leaning over to give him a quick hug before bounding out of the room, Selina following after her. Blinking at the door in confusion, Dick shrugged. They were weird. But that was okay. After all, they gave him cats. So, he turned his attention back to his fluffy friends, quite content to just sit and play with them.

Eventually, however, the kittens grew tired and fell asleep, leaving Dick alone and bored. He slipped out of his nest, tiptoeing around the room. He was not about to leave, but some exploration would be okay, right? Besides, he was _bored_ , and he needed to move around, sitting on the couch for so long having given him far too much energy.

Consuming the gifted candy definitely had not helped either.

Bookshelves lined the walls, and Dick grinned. There was just enough space atop them for him to climb to. From there it would be easy to get onto the hanging chandelier, which had been practically begging him to swing from for days.

So, Dick climbed up, happy peals of laughter sounding through the room as he swung upside down from the chandelier.

~•~

Joker was definitely not expecting the kid to be hanging from his chandelier.

But then again, he was not really sure what kids were supposed to do anyway. Maybe swinging from high places was a normal thing?

Judging by how the kid was watching him, eyes wide and unsure, Joker figured it probably was not a normal thing. Not that he really cared though. Looked like the kid was having fun.

“You can stay there.” He told the child, rolling his eyes when the kid just looked confused. Right then. Looks like someone needed English lessons. “Or you can come down. Do whatever you want, kid. I don’t really care.”

The kid continued hanging from the chandelier, so Joker just shrugged, moving around the room as he gathered up random objects before moving to sit in the middle of the living room floor, setting them down carefully.

“Come down now? You need to learn how to talk. Not talking isn’t going to work.” Joker tilted his head back, gesturing for the kid to get down.

And, surprisingly enough, the kid did, flipping off and tumbling into a rather graceful landing on the floor next to where Joker was sitting.

“Huh. Not bad. Not bad at all.” Joker mused, patting the spot next to him with a grin. “I’m Joker. You can call me Joker. What’s your name?”

The kid tilted his head to the side for a moment before moving to sit where directed. “Joker. Hi Joker. I Dick.”

Joker frowned. So, this is what the others had meant when saying that the kid had probably been abused. He did have to agree… no kid should think that their name was _Dick_. “No. You are not Dick. We’ll call you… um… Joker Jr.”

“Not Dick?” Joker Jr. asked, looking honestly very confused. “Joker… Joker Jr? I Joker Jr?”

“Yes. You Joker Jr.” Joker nodded, grin growing wider as the kid seemed to accept his new name. “Okay, kiddo. Now we’re going to learn English. _English_.”

Joker Jr. nodded, returning Joker’s grin. “English.”

“Good kid.” Joker patted him on the head before picking up his first item, a bomb. “This is a bomb. B-O-M-B. _Bomb_.”

“Bomb.” Joker Jr. repeated, reaching out to touch it.

Joker quickly pulled the bomb away. “No touching bombs.”

“No touch.” Joker Jr. parroted, pulling his hand back.

Joker nodded enthusiastically. This was going to be great. Joker Jr. already seemed like the perfect child.

An hour and a half later, Ivy returned home to find Joker showing the child an assortment of knifes and carefully explaining what to do with all of them.

“Joker, what exactly are you doing?” She asked, moving closer to the kid, as if that would help. “He’s a kid… he should not be playing with knives.”

Joker frowned. “But look at him. He likes it.”

The kid held up a knife, grinning at Ivy. “Throwing knife.” He told her, practically glowing with excitement at the new word.

Ivy sighed. “Fine, fine. You can teach him.”

“Good. Now, Joker Jr., this is a machete. You can cut off limbs with it.” Joker explained carefully, handing the eight-year-old the largest out of the collection of blades.

“Machete. Off limbs.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Why are you calling him Joker Jr.? We are not calling him that. And don’t tell him to chop off limbs. That’s not how you raise a child.” Ivy protested, taking the machete away.

Joker huffed. “But he’s learning. I’m teaching him.”

“Well, now I’m going to teach him something else.” Ivy grumbled, grabbing the kid’s hand and tugging him up. “I’m Ivy. We’re going to learn about plants now, beansprout.”

“Ivy. Plants.” Beansprout responded, glancing back at Joker before shrugging and happily following Ivy off to look at her various plants.

~•~

“Bud Jr.? Where’d you go?”

“Here.” Bud Jr. responded, swinging down from his perch atop the bookshelves, making Harley jump back in fright. He laughed, earning an exasperated sigh.

“You can’t keep jumping up places like that. You’ll hurt yourself.” Harley chided, although it was clear that she did not really mind. “The others are gone… I want to dye your hair.”

He frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Dye?”

Harley grinned. “Color. Like mine.” She gestured to the blue and pink, grinning as Bud Jr.’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got a lot of colors.”

“I like colors. Can… can it be pink? Like yours? And green? Like Joker’s?”

“Of course, it can. Now come on. We’ve got work to do.”

Two hours later and with all of their hands stained, because honestly, why would they use gloves, his hair was sticking in nearly every direction with random stripes of blue, pink, and green.

“Pigtails. Like yours.” Bud Jr. said, after looking at his reflection for one long moment.

Harley grinned, nodding. “I don’t think your hair is long enough for full ones… but short’ll work.” She got to work, tugging his hair up into as many different pigtails as she could.

While only long enough to fit into about three messy and lopsided pigtails, Bud Jr. was thoroughly pleased.

He looked like chaos incarnate.

It was great.

With this new hairdo, he looked like he actually fit in with his new family.

So, Bud Jr. turned, wrapping his arms around Harley’s waist. “Thanks, momma.”

Harley froze, body stiffening for just a moment before she returned the hug. “Of course, pumpkin.”

~•~

As weeks turned into months, the child once known as Dick Grayson grew more and more comfortable in his new home; with his new family.

He knew what his new parents did, knew that sometimes they were gone for a while because they had to go to jail, but he was okay with that.

Because at least now he had a family. A family who were willing to do anything to protect him and keep him safe. He really did love his new parents, weirdness and all.

Perhaps the only thing that he did not like about the situation was the random and spontaneous name changes. None of them ever believed him when he insisted that his name really was Dick, and so, he started just going by everything that they could come up with.

Until, two months into his stay, the group as a whole took to calling him their little veggie after he dyed his whole head green and started to only wear green clothes and eat vegetables. Ivy was very proud. From this group pet name, he formed a new name for himself.

He was Veggie, the most precious and well-kept secret of the Gotham crime world.

He, a single orphaned child, had unconsciously managed to wrap the worst criminals in the world around his little finger.

And… well… he did love the attention.

~•~

“Dad? Can I be the battleship?” He asked, pleading blue eyes looking up at Riddler, who simply shrugged.

“You can be whatever you want. Just as long as I get the top hat.”

Ivy laughed, scooping up one of their many cats and coming to sit down on the floor next to the board. “The battleship is a good option. I approve of that as our team piece.”

“Ohh. We’re a team?”

“Of course, we are. It’s my turn.”

Crane frowned. “Wasn’t it your turn last week?”

“It was. But I was in prison last week. Which means that this week it’s my turn.” Ivy insisted, helping Veggie dish out the money.

“That’s not fair. Why do we get our weeks pushed back just because Batsy caught you?”

Ivy shrugged. “Because I said so. Now shut up. It’s time to start playing.”

Like most family game nights, the simple game of monopoly quickly turned into who could successfully steal the most money while secretly trying to help their child win. Everyone liked seeing the happy smiles that came with the boy winning, especially when keeping their help a secret became more and more of a challenge as the kid grew up and became more astute.

Veggie narrowed his eyes at Harley, pointing an accusatory finger at the hand that had been slowly inching back from the bank pile, two five hundred bills clutched between her fingers. “Momma, you can’t just take the money from the bank. That’s cheating.”

“The kid’s right, Harls. He caught you. Getting caught is against the rules.” Selina said, sneaking some of the colored bills out from Crane’s pile while he was not paying attention. “Time to go to jail.”

Harley huffed, reluctantly moving her player piece into the jail. “Fine, fine.”

“Wait. Where’d my five hundred go?” Crane asked, glancing around the circle suspiciously.

“You can’t leave it unattended. You should know better.” Joker smirked, waving his own money in front of his friend’s face. “You snooze, you lose.”

All the parents pretended not to notice their little veggie slipping a stack of hundreds into his pile.

~•~

“Do you have to go out tonight? I wanted to make gingerbread houses…” He pouted, giving Joker his best puppy dog eyes.

Joker had to force himself not to meet the child’s gaze, knowing full well that would happen if he looked at him. No one could say no to those eyes. “Crane and Selina are staying home. You can make gingerbread houses with them, okay, my little clown? I’ll be back soon. Just going to have some fun with the friends.”

Veggie huffed. “I know you’re going to go pick a fight with Batman.”

“Yes, well, Batman has been especially annoying lately. It’s my job to make sure he stays distracted and out of the way.” Joker told him, ruffling the boy’s hair, or at least the parts that were not stuck up in random pigtails. “It won’t be long.”

“Fine… but can you bring me back a batarang? I need to work on my collection. Mom brought me back three last time.”

Joker laughed. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

Veggie watched with a pout as Joker left, sighing and heading into the kitchen where Crane and Selina were gathering up the necessary gingerbread house supplies.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Selina asked, brows drawing together into a frown as she stepped around the counter and pulled him into a hug.

“He didn’t want to stay… says he has to fight Batman. But… but he always has to fight Batman. Why can’t he just make gingerbread houses with us?”

Crane sighed. “He’s trying to distract them tonight. Riddler and Ivy are breaking Harley out of Arkham. You want her out, don’t you?”

“Of course, I want her out.” Veggie huffed, returning Selina’s hug with a sigh of his own. “I just… I just want us all to be able to get ready for Christmas together.”

“I know, little one. But we can decorate these while they’re gone, and then once they get back, we can all eat them together. How does that sound?”

Slowly, Veggie nodded. “That sounds good.”

They were only halfway done with the gingerbread house decorations when he started to feel seriously unwell. Pain shot up his side, making him gasp sharply as he clutched at the counter.

“Kid? What’s wrong?” Crane hurried to his side, placing a hand on Veggie’s forehead and cursing. “You’re burning up. You were fine earlier. I don’t… This doesn’t make sense.”

Veggie hummed weakly, another wave of pain crashing over him. He whimpered, reaching up to touch his shoulder only to have his fingers pull back sticky with blood.

Selina gasped. “He’s bleeding. What on earth…”

“I’m moving him to the couch.” Crane said hurriedly, scooping him up and moving him onto the nearest couch.

Just in time too, as another wave of pain hit, and Veggie cried out. His leg was twisted. How did his leg get twisted? It made no sense.

 _It hurt_.

With his parents panicking over him, Veggie found himself slipping into unconsciousness as wave after wave of pain wracked his body.

~•~

Nothing made sense. Or at least, nothing that they could think of.

Selina and Crane were panicking, trying to bandage up each wound only to find more randomly appearing, all the while their child was growing more and more pale, more and more out of it.

When Ivy and Riddler arrived back with Harley, the panic only seemed to escalate, even though at that point the wounds had stopped appearing and some had stopped bleeding altogether.

Still, it was not a pleasant sight, to see their child injured and unconscious for seemingly no reason.

“What’s going on here?” Joker asked, stepping through the door, a bloodied crowbar tucked under one arm, his once white gloves completely soaked in the red liquid.

“Injuries just… started appearing. We aren’t sure what’s happening.” Crane told him, placing a gentle hand on the kid’s forehead. “He’s been out of it for hours.”

“Puddin!” Harley launched herself at her boyfriend, kissing his lips before pulling away. “We’ve been back for forever. What took ya so long?”

Joker’s concern for their child faded slightly as a smirk spread across his lips. “The little birdy came out to play. It’s odd, how alike he is to our Veggie. I didn’t like it. But, sadly, Batsy came to stop me before things went too badly for the bird.”

“Their voices do sound awfully similar.” Ivy mused, leaning over the couch to look at the beansprout as the faintest of ideas began forming. “Joker… come here for a second.”

“What is it?” Joker asked, stepping around the others as he too looked over the couch, eyes widening as he saw exactly how injured their child was. “That looks painful.”

Ivy hummed, green eyes taking on the faintest glint of danger. “Take a careful look at his injuries.”

Joker frowned, but did as Ivy said, gaze roaming over the bandages. It took a few moments for everything to click, but once it did, he stumbled back. “How is that possible? I would never hurt him.”

“They have the same voice. They both do acrobatics.” Ivy said, tone definitely dangerous now, the plants scattered about the room starting to tremble and grow if only slightly. “We’ve told you before that it was strange and to leave the kid alone, especially after what you did to the last one.”

“I didn’t mean to kill the last birdy. That was an accident.” Joker protested, honestly looking horrified. “I swear, I didn’t know that hurting Robin would hurt our little veggie.”

Selina stepped forward then, eyes narrowing. “It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know. You hurt our child, Joker. He was _bleeding_ because of _you_.”

Joker shook his head. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t think you should be near him at the moment.” Crane spoke up, tone cold and harsh as he moved closer to their kid’s unconscious form, clearly ready to protect him in necessary.

“Harley, come on… you know me. I would never hurt the kid. I like the kid.” Joker pleaded, turning to his girlfriend, hoping at least one person would be on his side.

Harley simply stepped back, shaking her head. “You hurt him, Puddin’. You hurt my kid. You hurt _our_ kid.”

“Go, Joker. Clearly you’re a danger to him.”

Joker snarled, glancing down at Veggie one last time before he whirled around to leave. “Fine. But you’ll regret this. I’ll show you… you’ll bring be back in. Just wait. I won’t be gone for long.”

And then he was gone, leaving the rest of the distraught parents to help nurse their little veggie back to health. 


	5. The collection begins

All he knew was pain.

It radiated through his entire being, crashing in wave after wave over his senses, overwhelming him to such an extreme that he really was unable to tell where the source of the pain originated. He was cold, cold enough that the second thing he registered was his teeth chattering together.

As consciousness slowly returned to his body, he blinked his eyes open, not that opening them really helped all that much. He was laying in pitch black darkness, the room so dark that it was nearly suffocating. But maybe that was just the dust particles that he could feel burning his throat with every intake of air.

His hands and feet were bound, the restraints tight enough that he could barely feel his fingers at all, even if he wanted to move them, which he did not.

Where was he?

It was dark, so, so, so extremely dark, and yet still he kept his eyes open, knowing deep down that closing his eyes once more would only lead to pain.

But that knowledge raised another question.

What had happened to him? How had he gotten this hurt?

Simply shifting his weight ever so slightly sent more pain rushing through every nerve in his body. He was unsure how he knew, but he knew with an absolute certainty that at least a few bones were broken. Judging from how much it hurt to breathe, his neck was injured too.

Tongue flicking out over his lips, he parted them, attempting to speak, to call out for help, but no sound came. Probably for the best. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that calling out would only lead to more suffering.

Was that what had led to him being this injured?

He was unsure.

No matter how much he tried to think back to what had led this awful situation, no memories came forth.

And that was when he realized that he really could remember nothing.

He could not remember who had done this to him.

He could not remember where he came from.

He could not remember _who he was._

Absolutely no memories resided in his brain, and yet, somehow, knowledge remained.

He knew not to make too many noises.

He knew that the pain he felt now was nothing in comparison to how bad it could be.

And, most importantly, he knew that he should be dead.

Time passed in a haze as he lay there, slipping in and out of consciousness, surrounded by complete and utter darkness. The pain receded into numbness as his body grew used to the constant agony, although maybe the biting cold had more to do with that than anything else.

It felt like days had gone by before anything changed, although in reality it had probably only been hours. Not that he could really tell, considering his unchanging surroundings. Still, when the change came, it was sudden and more than a little bit painful.

In a mere instant, the darkness was gone, replaced instead by blinding light which made him flinch back, a soft whimper slipping from his lips.

Loud footsteps sounded, growing closer and closer, until he felt a rough hand gripping his bound wrists and yanking him upward. He squirmed weakly against the hold, squinting through watery eyes at the man glowering down at him.

“You’re supposed to be dead, kid.” The man told him, eyes filled with a dark and twisted look of interest that made him want to get away.

Except he could not get away because the man was holding him up, and he was far too weak to fight back. His lips parted, words of protest just waiting to spill forth. But his throat was too injured, and all that came out was a pathetic, weak, whimper.

The man smirked, laughing darkly at his struggles. “This is quite the development… I think I can find plenty of uses for you. After all, a circus brat deserves to be kept in a cage.” He shifted his grip on the boy’s wrists to a hand wrapped around his neck, squeezing even as the boy squirmed pathetically in his grasp. “The Last Flying Grayson… yes… I’ll definitely keep you.”

As darkness enveloped him, the boy only had one final thought. Grayson.

Was that his name?

~•~

In the days that followed his awakening, his general confusion faded away to numb acceptance. Maybe it was better not to know where he had come from. After all, if he had a home before all of this, remembering it would probably only cause more pain.

From what he could gather listening to the men around him talk, he at the very least had had parents. If the boasting was anything to go by, then their name was indeed Grayson.

That at least gave him some kind of comfort. He had a name. A name which he shortened to Gray, but at least it was something, some tie to the life that was completely absent from his memories. Not that anyone would ever use his name.

He had learned quickly that talking was not appreciated. In fact, any noise made by him that was not screams of pain generally led to more beatings, thus bringing forth more screams of pain.

Maybe his whole life had been like this. It felt familiar enough, at least. His body was accustomed to the large bruises that constantly marred his pale skin, the pain of broken bones having long since faded from agony into a more manageable ache as he grew used to them as well. And, while he was never allowed to look into a mirror, as looking up was generally something punished with further beatings, Gray could only imagine that he looked like a mess.

Not that he really cared though. He had better things to worry about, like just surviving day to day. It grew easier as time passed, grew easier to stand after days of starvation, grew easier to function on little sleep and with multiple severe injuries, grew easier to slip away into his head when his treatment grew too severe to handle.

And so, as days turned into weeks which turned into months and then years, Gray found comfort in the established routine, of knowing that no matter what happened, nothing would ever really change. Each night when Sir and his friends were done with him, he would curl up on the floor of the main room for a few meager hours of sleep. Each morning he would awaken to kicks and harsh words. The daily routine varied, depending on how angry Sir was. Sometimes, he was better than others and would give Gray food or medical attention. Others he would beat Gray into unconsciousness, or pass him around the group, letting his men abuse him however they desired.

Of course, they were careful to leave his limbs intact, and to always bandage the broken bones. But as he could not die from bleeding out, knives and other sharp objects were more often than not implemented. And, with each passing day, Gray grew better and better at drifting off to that happy little bubble inside his mind where he could pretend, if just for a little while, that everything would be okay, even if he really did not know what okay was anymore.

This was his life, and he had accepted that.

~•~

Joker was not happy.

Not happy at all.

Not only had he been kicked out of his own home by his parenting circle, but they also refused to interact with him in the Gotham crime scene.

It had been _weeks_.

What if his little veggie forgot about him in the time that he was gone?

Joker was not about to let that happen. He needed some way to get back in with the group.

It was that issue which had led him to where he was now, sitting in a back corner of a shady bar waiting for Penguin. While Joker did not necessarily enjoy the other villain’s company, Penguin was one of the select few outside the parenting circle who knew about their little veggie. So, when Penguin had contacted him about a possible lookalike to his favorite child, Joker had been more than a little bit interested.

And, fortunately, it did not seem as if he would have to wait in suspense much longer as Penguin walked into the bar and took a seat across from him at his table.

“What information do you have?”

Penguin frowned, crossing his arms over his portly chest. “What, no hello?”

“I have important matters to attend to. Either give me the information or get out.” Joker informed him coldly, already reaching into his jacket pocket for his gun. He did not have time to waste. He had already been away from his kid for way too long. What if something had happened to him?

“Fine, fine. You know Tony Zucco, right? Mob boss?”

Joker rolled his eyes. “This is my city. Of course, I know of Zucco. What about him?”

“Well, I had a meeting with him the other day… The guy’s got a kid too. Looks a lot like yours. Black hair, blue eyes, short…” Penguin shrugged, rummaging around in his suit jacket before retrieving a photo and placing it on the table, pushing it toward Joker’s side. “Thought you might be interested.”

“How long has Zucco had him?” Joker asked, staring down at the photo. The boy in it definitely looked like his little veggie, albeit a bit more bruised and definitely skinnier.

Penguin shrugged, leaning back with a sigh. “I don’t know. Probably a while though. The kid wouldn’t even talk.”

Joker hummed thoughtfully, staring down at the photo for a few more moments before tucking it away into his pocket and standing.

“You going to take the kid?”

“Yes, yes, I am.” Joker grumbled, already on his way out the door. The boy in Zucco’s care was undoubtedly another clone. And, if he knew his fellow parents as well as he thought he did, they would love another little veggie to take care of.

That, and there was no way he was about to leave someone that looked like his kid in such a horrible situation.

No, he would rescue the child being tormented by Tony Zucco, and he would kill the monster who had been hurting him.

The boy would get him a free pass back into his little family, that much Joker was certain of.

Now all he needed to do was find where Zucco was keeping him.

~•~

Sir had a visitor again, not that Gray was really surprised.

It was fairly normal for Sir to have visitors.

What was less normal, however, was how they seemed to be talking about him, if the frequent mentions of ‘the boy’ were anything to go by. From what Gray knew, he was the only boy that Sir kept around.

“Boy, come here.” Sir ordered from across the room, tone harsh and grating.

Gray bit his lower lip to muffle any sounds of pain as he limped forward, keeping his gaze locked onto the floor. He knew better than to meet the eyes of Sir or any of the men he brought over. Subservience was the only way to lessen the pain which would inevitably be inflicted upon him. Fighting was useless. Hiding was useless. Running was useless. At the end of the day, all there was was pain.

Still, he risked a quick glance up as he came to a stop at Sir’s side, taking in the odd-looking male who had been conversing with Sir. From the quick glance, the guy appeared to have green hair, extremely pain skin, and was wearing a gaudy purple suit.

“This is the boy. Quite wonderful, he is. Can’t die. No matter how much we hurt him.” Sir grasped Gray’s shoulder in a painfully strong grip as he pulled him closer, his other hand starting to run through Gray’s hair as if he really was just some kind of pet. The touch made Gray shudder, biting into his lip harder to keep from whimpering. He hated it when Sir touched him.

“Quite an interesting specimen indeed… may I take a look at him?” The stranger asked, reaching for Gray. He flinched back, but Sir held him firmly in place, nails digging into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. “Look up, boy.”

Hesitantly, Gray did as he was told, meeting the curious gaze of the green haired stranger. Smiling rather eerily, the stranger leaned forward, one gloved hand lightly touching Gray’s cheek. It was all Gray could do not to flinch back.

“Close your eyes, kiddo.” The man whispered, petting Gray’s head as his eyes softened for the barest fraction of a second before he turned away, pulling a gun out from inside his suit jacket. “Zucco, I am very unhappy. Very, very unhappy.”

Gray flinched back as the first gunshot sounded, stumbling and tripping as he scrambled away, hands clamping instinctively over his ears. He moved back as far as he possibly could, shrinking against the wall as blood splattered the walls and explosions shook the building. As much as he wanted to, needed too, Gray just could not close his eyes.

With wide eyes, he watched as the man with the green hair and purple suit slaughtered his abusers, and, as much as he could appreciate them dying, there was so much blood. So much violence. He could feel panic rising in his chest, could feel it overtaking his senses. It was manageable, at first, but then Sir’s body dropped to the ground in front of him, eyes lifeless and cold, blood trickling from his mouth.

And then the man stepped over the dead body, wiping a bloody knife on his shirt, lips twisted into a sinister grin as he kneeled down in front of Gray. “Hey there, kid. You’re coming with me, okay?”

Gray whimpered, shaking his head and shrinking back against the wall.

The man frowned, watching the trembling boy for one long moment before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. He leaned forward as Gray shrank back, grabbing onto his shoulder and pressing the cloth to his mouth and nose.

Unable to stop his panicked breathing, Gray inhaled the clear scent of chemicals before everything slowly faded black.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was the fact that he was on an unstable surface. It did not take long after to realize that said unstable surface was some kind of box. The box had to be in some kind of vehicle with how much he was being jolted around, and he could not help but whimper softly as each jolt knocked him into a side of his prison, jarring his many broken bones and open wounds.

It hurt.

Gray bit his lower lip, curling in on himself as tight as he could inside the box. Where was he being taken? Would they hurt him there too? His fingers trembled as he stared down at them, noting the blood. Blood was not surprising to him. He was used to seeing blood.

But that had always been his own blood.

The blood on his hands was the blood of Sir and Sir’s friends.

It was _wrong_. Gray should have been the one bleeding, not Sir. Gray was meant to bleed.

Except, it felt so incredibly right.

It felt _right_ to have watched the cruel man and his minions be slaughtered.

He was a horrible person.

But that was something Gray could accept. At least he would probably be dead soon. After all, that was the only reason he could think of as to why he had been put in a box. Would they dump him into a river?

Sir and his friends had boasted about killing people that way before.

Shivering, Gray did his best not to think about that. He needed to focus on clearing his mind. If he could just tune it all out, could just go into that safe corner of his mind where nothing could hurt him, then maybe death would not be so bad.

Besides, Gray knew that he could not actually die. Sir had killed him time after time again only for him to wake up hours later. But then again, Sir had never drowned him before. If he was surrounded in water forever, Gray doubted that he would be able to come back.

That would be nice; not being able to come back.

Actual death had to be better than living.

Living was hell on earth.

With a few deep breaths, Gray reached that little corner or safety, his tense body relaxing ever so slightly as he stared blankly at the dark wooden wall in front of him. It felt like he was staring down at his body, a feeling which had at first been odd, but was now something he was all too familiar with.

And so, Gray stayed in his safe and cozy mental corner as the movement outside the box slowly grew still before starting up again. There was a final jolt as the box was set down, and then the sound of voices, growing louder and louder.

It was a fight, that much Gray was sure of. That alone was enough to break him out of his trance-like state. If people were fighting, then he needed to be fully aware. Or at least as aware as he could get. He knew from experience how badly things could end up if he was unable to read the combatants well enough.

Sir had liked bringing him out when they were fighting, after all, and Gray had received a few too many extra beatings for being too out of it to read the room well. He was not about to make that mistake with strangers. Especially not after what he had seen the man with the purple suit and green hair do to Sir.

The voices sounded closer now, and Gray knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the fight was occurring just outside his box. He shrank back, pressing his body against the back wall of the box. Just in time too, as the wall closest to the voices pulled back, bright light shining into his prison.

Gray flinched, squinting his eyes as pain flared in his head. Sir had liked keeping him in darkness a bit too much; just like how he had enjoyed forcing Gray to sit with his eyes open, teary and burning, once he had discovered his sensitivity to light.

Someone kneeled down to peer into the box, and Gray did his best to merge with the wood behind him, a task that he was sadly unable to accomplish. A soft whimper of pain slipped from his lips, and he heard someone mumble a soft curse. Footsteps sounded, and then the lights dimmed, making Gray’s shoulders slump in relief.

At least he would be able to see who was going to try killing him.

The blurry figure looking in at him from where the box had opened up slowly focused into a woman with bright red hair and dressed in green.

“Hey there, beansprout.” The woman said, smiling at him. “I’m Ivy. Can you tell me your name?”

Gray blinked at her. Smiling made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. People only smiled at him if they wanted him to let his guard down. And the instant he did that, they would attack. He had only fallen for that ploy twice before learning better. Smiles were not to be trusted.

He knew better than to answer her question too. No one ever actually wanted an answer. This was a test. Sir had done tests like this all too often. Gray knew better than to ever admit to having a name. He was a thing. He did not get a name. Or at least, not a real one.

Names were for people, not human punching bags.

The woman, Gray knew better than to risk starting to call her by her name, even in his head, frowned, reaching toward him. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We won’t hurt you.”

Gray narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. These people were going to need to seriously up their game if they thought something that clearly untrue was going to work on him.

“Mom? Can I see?” A clearly much younger voice asked, making the redheaded lady turn away.

Gray took in a shaky breath as the attention was pulled back away from himself, moving just a little bit further away from the entrance. Maybe if he did everything in his power to look threatening, it would help? Not that he could really look threatening. Gray knew all too well that he was very short and extremely skinny. He doubted if he would be capable of fighting off a small dog, much less a fully grown human.

Images of what had happened to Sir and his friends flashed through his mind, and he bit his lip. Fighting was definitely not going to get him very far.

However, confusion quickly overtook his internal struggles as a boy, probably no older than ten or eleven, poked his head into the box.

“Hi. I’m Veggie. You look like me. Well… you have longer hair. And it’s not dyed… but otherwise you look like me. Catmom said that we’re clones. But not clones of eachother.” The boy moved his hands into sight, holding a small kitten carefully in his palms. He set the small animal down, and it tottered over to Gray, sniffing at his leg. The boy grinned. “That’s Pebble. She’s yours. The parents gave me lots of kittens when I first got here, so you can have more too if you want.”

Gray blinked, eyeing the kitten warily. The information about being a clone was new, but it was not like he actually cared about that. At least that served as some kind of explanation as to why he was unable to die. Pebble meowed softly before clambering up into his lap, curling into a ball and falling asleep, all within the span of a few minutes. Honestly unsure of what to do, Gray just stared down at the sleeping animal. Was he supposed to touch her? What if he hurt her? She was so small… and fluffy looking. It could not possibly hurt to just pet her a little bit, right?

Slowly, Gray reached down, fingertips lightly stroking over the kitten’s fur.

“Do you have a name?” Veggie asked, moving in just a bit closer.

Unable to shrink back any further, Gray settled for narrowing his eyes at the other boy, trying to warn him back.

Veggie pouted at him. “You have to have some kind of name. Will you tell me if I get you another kitten? Kittens fix every problem.”

“Why are you giving me cats?” Gray asked, voice cracking and raspy from lack of use, as well as damaged vocal cords. Maybe, once the bruises around his neck were given time to fade, he might be able to talk more normally. Not that Gray planned on doing much talking.

“Because cats fix every problem. Catmom said so.” Veggie declared, pout morphing into a grin as he moved to sit on the other side of the box. There was just barely enough room for them to both fit without touching. “So, do you have a name?”

Gray frowned. Clearly the other boy was not about to let this go. “Why should I tell you? Y-you… no one ever uses my name.”

“Well that’s stupid. Why would no one ever use your name? Did you tell them your name? Maybe they just didn’t know.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t allowed to have a name.”

Veggie looked personally offended by that statement. “That’s not nice at all. Thank goodness Papa rescued you. It’s okay now though. We’ll call you by your name. You just need to tell me what it is.”

Gray bit his lower lip, fingers tentatively stroking Pebble’s fur in an attempt to find some kind of comfort. Should he tell this person his name? He had already made the mistake of talking to him. What else could he do? That was a bad question. There was a lot that could happen.

But, in that moment, Gray let those fears go, if only briefly. He was tired, emotionally strained, in pain, and something in the other boy’s eyes made him feel oddly safe; as if there was some kind of bond between them even though they had only just met. Maybe it was the weird clone thing mentioned. Either way, keeping his gaze focused on the small kitten in his lap, Gray whispered words that he had never before uttered. “Gray. I… my name is Gray.”

“Hi Gray. It’s really nice to meet you.” Veggie responded, voice soft and filled with an odd _warmth_.

No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

It was nice.

“You too.” He mumbled, fighting back the sudden wave of tears that threatened to overwhelm him at hearing his name spoken. It made him feel more like a normal person, even if he knew all too well that he would never be a normal person.

“Wanna leave the box? We could make a pillow fort. The parents don’t have to be there. Just us and cats.”

Gray frowned, glancing up at the other male. “What is… what is a pillow fort?”

Veggie gasped, looking truly horrified. “You don’t know what a pillow fort is? It’s when you get a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and soft things, and you pile them up and drape blankets over the top, and it’s cozy and wonderful. Especially if you use fluffy blankets.”

“Fluffy blankets?”

“Fluffy blankets. You’ll see. Come on, I promise it’s safe. And there are more cats.” Veggie coaxed, reaching out a hand to him, blue eyes wide and pleading.

Teeth sinking down into his lower lip, Gray timidly placed his hand into Veggie’s, cradling Pebble to his chest as he let the other male guide him out of the box. Gray kept his head down, focusing on placing one foot after the other rather than looking around at the adults whose gazes were practically burning into him.

Veggie seemed impervious to the stares as he led Gray into another, smaller, room. “See those blankets and pillows in the corner? You can go sit on them. I’m going to grab more.” He pointed at the pile of soft looking items, gently nudging Gray in that direction. “Oh! I’m gonna get you some different clothes too. I have some awesome tie-dye hoodies.”

“O-Okay.” Gray honestly had no clue what a tie-dye hoodie was supposed to be, but he knew better than to argue. Arguing led to punishments. So, he did as instructed, sitting in the corner and letting Pebbles curl back up on his lap as Veggie left the room.

The blankets were soft, beyond a doubt the softest things Gray had ever had the luxury of touching. Exhausted and drained, both mentally and physically, Gray let his body relax for just a moment, eyes drifting closed. It only took minutes for him to fall asleep, lost in the world of peaceful oblivion by the time Veggie returned.

~•~

The next few days were the best that Gray had ever lived.

Not that he really had much to compare them too, but still.

Each day he woke up surrounded by warmth and comfort, cats of all ages and sizes sprawled out around him. Even Veggie was starting to grow on him more, the other boy’s energetic presence enough to bring the faintest of smiles to Gray’s lips.

However, he was still incredibly wary of the adults, even though they were good at staying away. So good in fact that Gray had barely even seen them since Veggie had brought him to the room with the blanket fort.

It was a strange feeling, waking up warm and comfortable, but Gray relished it, curling up under the fuzzy blankets, fingers stroking gently at the closest cat’s fur as it stretched out languidly and purred. Gray smiled. He liked being able to make the cats purr.

At least that was something he could do in this strange new world.

“Good morning! Momma made pancakes. And we have maple syrup.” Veggie said, poking his head into the fort and grinning at Gray.

Gray blinked back at him, hand dropping from the cat’s fur as he slowly sat up. “I don’t… I don’t k-know what those are.”

“They’re good. You’ll see. But we have to eat them in the kitchen. Because syrup is messy.”

“In… in the kitchen?” Gray flinched at the mere thought of going out there amongst so many people. The adults were out there, and, while Veggie might not be dangerous, adults most certainly were.

Veggie noticed his flinch, smile drooping ever so slightly. “Hey, it’ll be fine. I promise. It’s just Papa, Momma, and Catmom here today. The others are out doing crime things.”

“I don’t know who th-those people are.”

“Oh. Good point. But you have to meet them in order to know them.” Veggie said, reaching out a hand to Gray. “Come on. I’ll protect you.”

Gray bit his lip, considering his options. He did have to leave the cozy blanket and pillow nest eventually. And it was better to just get the beatings out of the way as soon as possible. Maybe if he was good enough, they would let him return to the blankets once they were done. With that thought in mind, he took Veggie’s offered hand, letting the other male pull him from the pillow fort and lead him out of the room.

Like he had done when he was first brought to the room, Gray kept his eyes focused on the floor, simply letting Veggie lead. It was all fine and dandy until Veggie stopped next to a table and started talking.

“Gray, this is Harley. But I call her momma. You can probably call her momma too.”

“Hi there, pumpkin.”

Gray shifted uncomfortably on his feet, glancing up at the woman in question, unable to hide a small smile as he saw how enthusiastically she was waving at him. “H-hello.”

Harley cooed, and another female voice hushed her, making Gray glance over in that direction, where another lady was smiling over at him.

“I’m Selina.” Her eyes scanned over Gray, and he looked away again, moving a bit closer to Veggie, who gave his hand a squeeze. “How are you feeling, little one? Do you need anything?”

“I-I… I’m fine. Thankyou.” Gray whispered, shrinking even closer to his fellow clone.

Thankfully, Veggie was aware enough to pick up on Gray’s increasing anxiety. “I’m hungry.” He declared, pulling Gray over to the table and pointing at a chair. “You can sit there. I’ll sit next to you. It’ll be fine, okay? I know they look scary, but they really aren’t. I was scared at first too.”

“Here you go, little one. Let me know if you want any more, okay? There are plenty.” Selina told him with a gentle smile, pushing a plate of steaming food toward him.

Veggie giggled at Gray’s clueless stare, cutting into his own food and holding out a bite on his fork to Gray. “Here. Try it. It’s good, promise. Momma makes the bestest pancakes.”

“Awe. Thanks, pumpkin.”

Hesitantly, Gray accepted the offered food, chewing and swallowing carefully before his eyes widened. It was good. Very, very good.

“See? Told ya you would like it.” Veggie grinned, returning his focus back to his own plate.

Without any further hesitation, Gray began shoveling the food into his mouth, not daring to stop lest it be taken away. Sir had like to do that as a method of torment, giving him food only to take it back just when Gray was starting to eat. He was so engrossed in the meal that he failed to notice voices in the hall leading into the kitchen, completely oblivious to the incoming people until the slamming of a door jolted him back into the real world again.

Startled by the sound, Gray’s fingers slipped, and his fork dropped from his hands, clattering onto the floor.

He froze, body freezing into place as panic slowly rose in his chest. He had messed up. They were going to punish him. They were going to hurt him. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable pain.

Except that pain never came. Instead, a gentle hand lightly touched the top of his head, lightly brushing through his hair. Still bracing himself for pain, Gray blinked his eyes open, staring at the man standing in front of him.

“Hey kid. I’m Joker. It’s okay.” The green haired man murmured, shrugging out of his suit jacket and placing it over Gray’s quivering shoulders. “I want you to hold onto that for me, okay? It’ll keep you safe. No one in Gotham is dumb enough to challenge me, aside from Batman, and Batman would never hurt a kid. You’re safe here.”

And, strangely enough, Gray did indeed feel a sense of safety huddled under the too big purple jacket.

Because, to him, in this moment, Joker really was a hero.

Joker had killed Sir.

Joker would keep him safe.

~•~

Everything seemed to be going well since that first breakfast with the family. Gray had even managed to successfully meet the rest of the parents, even though he definitely preferred Joker. After all, Joker had been the one to rescue him, even if he had been scary at first.

But all good things come to an end, and, one morning, he awoke feeling the worst he had in nearly a month.

Head pounding, Gray shivered, body trembling as nausea filled his stomach. He staggered to his feet, barely making it into the bathroom before he was throwing up.

“Hey… It’s okay. I don’t feel good either.” Veggie reassured him, holding back Gray’s hair with one hand as he sniffled and blew his nose with the other. “I think we’re sick.”

“I don’t get sick m-much.” Grey mumbled as he leaned back, sweat beading on his forehead, cheeks unusually flushed.

Veggie coughed, scrunching up his nose in distaste. “I don’t either. But we’re definitely sick. Maybe father can make tea… He’s a doctor, you know. He can help.”

As if summoned from the shadows, Crane stepped into the bathroom, followed by Ivy. “Veggie? Gray? What’s wrong?”

“Sick.” Veggie grumbled, unable to stop the sigh that left his lips as Gray went silent and looked away. He moved closer to the other clone, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, only to frown. “He’s very hot.”

Crane’s frown mirrored his little veggie’s as he moved forward, reaching a hand toward Gray’s forehead.

“N-no… Don’t… don’t touch me!” He cried out, breaths hitching in his throat as he stared at the approaching hand. They had always been worse when he was sick. Punching bags were not supposed to get sick. Crane’s face twisted, forming into Sir’s glowering features.

Gray flinched back, eyes going wide as he scrambled to get away, only ending up hitting his head against the cabinet with a loud cracking sound. Veggie cried out, reaching for his friend, but Gray was still panicking, and Veggie’s panic was definitely not helping. With blood trickling down the back of his head, Gray shrank away, breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

And then Ivy was there, holding out a sweet-smelling plant… and then everything drifted black and Gray slumped back onto the cold tiles, leaving the others to clean up the mess left behind.

The next few days were a blur for Gray as fever wracked his body, medicine offering little relief to him or Veggie as they lay curled up together, various parents taking care of them, although all made sure not to touch Gray.

Oddly enough, Crane was nowhere to be seen, and, days after they were both feeling better and Veggie asked about his Father, none of the other parents would give a solid answer.

Crane had made their second little veggie hurt himself and had in turn scared their first little veggie. So, unbeknownst to the two clones, the rest of the parents had sent him out much like they had with Joker.

Except this time there were rules to being allowed back.

Crane needed to return with another little veggie, or he would not be allowed to return at all. 


	6. Take the Talon's head

Richard Grayson was dead.

Or at least, that was what the man had told him. Not that Dick could really understand much of what the man said, the words spoken too quickly for him to process. He knew better than to ask for clarification though.

His eye was still swollen from his last attempt at asking a question. The man did not like it when he spoke, so Dick stayed silent.

The man was mean, but Dick saw no real way of escaping him. His ribs still ached from the first time he had tried to run. If he had had more medical knowledge, Dick would have known that they were broken. But he was only eight, so the diagnosis escaped his knowledge, leaving him simply in pain and terrified.

Unable to speak without severe retribution and terrified of making one wrong move, Dick simply followed the man’s every direction, although more often than not that too led to pain when he could not decipher what the man was trying to say.

There was no safe path to take, no place to hide from the constant terror.

If anything, there was simply more pain around every corner.

Dick was trapped, claimed by an organization that he had no knowledge of.

All he knew was that the people in the owl masks were even more terrifying than the man who never left his side.

_"Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time…_

_Ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime…_

_They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed…_

_Speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send the Talon for your head."_

The words echoed in his head, becoming a mantra repeated over and over again until they lost all true meaning, holding only the remnant feelings of fear. Not that he really knew what the words meant anyway. They had simply been repeated so many times that they had been burned into his mind, like a hot iron pressing into his very soul.

Did he have a soul anymore?

Honestly, he was unsure.

He was Talon.

That was all.

~•~

Blood splattered across his mask, but Talon was numb to concern. He had long since grown numb to most things. It was easier that way. It was easier to block out the sounds of his target’s screams if he simply let himself drift into nothing, if he became nothing.

Because really, that was all he was. That was all he could be.

Nothing.

Just a pawn; a tool to be honed and sharpened until it gleamed with deadly brilliance, uniform amongst scores of others.

Still, Talon did his best to kill quickly, to reduce the suffering of his targets as much as possible. Even if they had to die, at least he could make it somewhat easy on them. Owlman had made him watch far too many times as he brutally slaughtered his targets, each one worse than the last until Talon no longer vomited at the sight of spilled guts and torn out eyes; until he was numb to it all.

He stepped back from his victim, face blank under his mask. It had been an easy kill, the man old and overweight to such an extent that he was completely unable to flee. All it had taken was a quick strike through the head. With it being Gotham City, no one would even question the circumstances in which the body was found. After all, this kind of thing was normal. Normal enough that an entire society of Gotham’s richest could get away with having their own personalized fleet of time-frozen assassins.

Not that Talon really cared though. No, his only purpose was to kill, and he had completed his mission for the night. Turning on his heal, Talon swiftly exited the building through a back window, disappearing into the night as if he had never really been there at all.

And, according to all evidence, he had not been. Because, after all, the Court of Owls was but a myth, and thus the Talon was nothing but an urban legend. He was nothing. Just a whisper on the wind, a breath of air, a shadowed harbinger of death.

Owlman was angry when he returned to the headquarters, not that Talon was surprised. Owlman was always angry about something. He stayed silent as the man ranted and raved, delivering the occasional kick to Talon’s still form. Talon knew better than to attempt to fight back. Tools were not supposed to fight back. They were simply meant to do their jobs and then wait for further instruction. So, that’s what Talon did, lips pressed into a thin line to avoid making any sound as Owlman shouted at him, words an incomprehensible jumble.

It was not long before the man grew tired of yelling at the impassive target, growling in frustration before grabbing Talon’s arm and pulling him angrily toward one of Talon’s least favorite areas in the headquarters, second only to the main meeting room where the masked people normally held office.

The tubes were terrifying, suspended in rows along the walls, green fluid bubbling ominously within, encasing the bodies of other Talons. At the beginning, Owlman had let him stay awake between missions, something about needing him to grow, or at least that was what Talon had thought he had said. Now, however, he was expected to stay in the tubes, frozen in time until the Court next needed him.

Talon hated the tubes, hated the green liquid which felt cold enough to burn his skin, hated how vulnerable he felt each time Owlman forced him to strip down in order to enter the tube. His armor had become his protection, the mask hiding his face from the ever-watching eyes. To have that taken away, well, Talon _hated_ it.

Still, he did what he knew was expected of him, removing his armor piece by piece under Owlman’s wrathful stare, until he was left bare aside from his undergarments. What came next, Talon hated even more than the tube, even though it too was part of this nightmare ritual. Owlman stepped closer, hands skimming over Talon’s exposed flesh.

He wanted to flinch back, wanted to attack like all his senses were telling him to do, but he knew better. Pain always followed breaking the ritual. And so, he stood still, frozen in place as Owlman inspected him. With a grunt, the man placed his hand on the small of Talon’s back, pushing him toward the tube.

Gritting his teeth, Talon let him, stepping into the tube filled with the bubbling green liquid, holding his breath as he lay down and was submerged instantly. Owlman towered over him, lips twisted upward into a sinister smirk as he pulled the lid down and over Talon’s tube, trapping him inside the container.

What came next was almost as bad as the inspection. Still, Talon did his best to let it happen, opening his mouth and letting the viscous liquid fill his lungs, pain spreading through his body until, finally, darkness enveloped him. He could only hope that maybe this time the darkness would be final, that maybe he could rest.

It was a futile hope.

~•~

Talon never knew how long he was frozen for each time. It could be a week, a month, maybe even a year, and he would still feel equally disorientated, pain radiating through his skull as the liquid drained away and he opened his eyes to the blinding light of the room. No matter how long it had been, Owlman was always there, standing over him with that same sinister smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, almost as is nothing had really changed at all in the time that he was asleep.

What came next was always the same, the movements practiced and fluid like a well-oiled machine. Like more than a dozen times before, Owlman pulled him from the tube and held him steady as his hands once again perused Talon’s body. Talon did his best to stand still and bear it.

As his mind cleared and he regained control of his limbs, Owlman moved back, standing with crossed arms as Talon slipped back into his suit. The routine continued from there, Talon following Owlman from the room, feet stepping in a memorized order, a pattern scoured into his brain.

And, like the countless times before, Owlman gave him his instructions and watched as Talon slipped through the exit and began the trip toward his target. The pattern was almost calming to Talon, the routine unbroken and stable, perhaps the only stable thing that he could hold claim to.

Except, as he leapt across rooftops and slipped behind shadows, Talon began to realize that something felt off.

Or perhaps a better way to describe it would be that something _felt_. Normally everything was numb, even when he lost limbs in a fight or was killed entirely. He had grown so used to it that it was in essence normal. And, while Talon had not willingly chosen that numbness, he most certainly preferred it to the burning pain in his throat and the tightness that had enveloped his chest since his re-awakening.

It was throwing him off completely; throwing him off to such an extent that even his vision was starting to blur, and his movements were growing increasingly more clumsy. He was a Talon. From the little he could understand, that meant he was not supposed to be clumsy. Yet there he was, nearly slipping off a rooftop and falling to his death. Not that falling would actually kill him, but still.

To make matters worse, the near plummet from the roof had alerted the target to his presence and now he was being shot at.

Everything was wrong, and with that wrongness came the feelings which he had long since learned to suppress. He was being shot at. He was being _shot_ at. He was supposed to _murder someone._ It was weird to feel horrified at that notion. After all, he had murdered a lot of people. It only took a few for him to learn that counting only made it hurt more. The first time he died, he decided that struggling really was pointless. It was better to just accept the numbness, to just follow orders and not protest. Protesting just led to even more pain.

Talon gritted his teeth, fighting down the cough that rose in his throat, springing into action. He needed to take down his target. Bad things would happen if he did not. He could not let whatever was happening interfere with his mission. Owlman would be furious if he failed. Talon knew better than to make Owlman furious.

He ignored the bullets flying toward him as he lunged forward, body slamming into the glass of the target’s window. It shattered, and Talon rolled into a summersault before coming up onto his feet, the blades in his gloves extending. Bullets hit him, but Talon barely even noticed. Whatever harm they dealt him would heal. After all, he was practically immortal. There would be no dying for him. There would be no rest. Moving quickly, Talon took down the guards, claws slicing through their throats like a knife through butter, before he moved on to the cowering figure in the back of the room. His target.

Talon stepped forward, blinking slowly behind his mask. He felt hot. Too hot. Why was his vision blurred? It did not make sense. He stumbled, and the target took that opportunity to attempt to run. She did not get very far. Even with something wrong with him, Talon was still faster than the average person. His hand entered her chest in one quick motion, fist clenching around her heart until it stopped beating. It was a harsher death than what he would normally have given, but Talon was already running short on time. Owlman would be furious if he took longer than estimated.

And, even though Talon generally did not know how much time he had to complete his tasks, he somehow always ended up being late back according to Owlman. The later he was, the more punishment he would receive.

He coughed, breath coming in a wheezing gasp as he turned from the woman’s body, exiting through the broken window and disappearing like a shadow into the night. By the time he returned to the headquarters, Talon could barely even stand at all, swaying unsteadily on his feet as he awaited whatever punishment Owlman would dish out.

Like normal, Owlman was less than pleased. He started in on his indecipherable yelling almost as soon as he entered the room, although to Talon his voice seemed off, as if it sounded from far away. It was only when Owlman came to stand directly in front of him and shook him that Talon realized he had somehow managed to completely zone out. Except now not only did Owlman sound off, but Talon had a new problem to deal with. Nausea was building in his stomach like a rising flood, bubbling up into his throat and threatening to explode outward.

Talon took a step back, only to have Owlman grab his arm and yank him back into place. He gritted his teeth, trying to force down the vomit. He failed, knees buckling under him as he sagged to the ground and puked bile onto Owlman’s boots.

Everything felt fuzzy after he was done, his head spinning, sweat beading on his forehead as he started to slump forward. Owlman caught him before he faceplanted into the putrid mess on the older man’s shoes, voice somehow sounding even more angry, even if still distant. Talon blinked up at him, vision struggling to focus. When it did not clear, Talon simply gave up, letting his eyes drift closed and his body slump completely.

He was too out of it to hear whatever else Owlman had to yell at him about, although he did pick up on one word, repeated over and over again; malfunctioning. Broken.

He was too out of it to recall much of the following events. He knew he had been moved, dragged, from the room. He knew that he had been bound. He knew that his suit had been removed. But what he did not know was much more important. He did not know that a council had been summoned. He did not know that the Court scientists had tested him and found sickness that should be impossible for any functioning Talon. He did not know that the council had come to a decision.

But he did know perhaps the most important thin

By the time he regained more consciousness, it had already been decided. He was already chained to the ground in the main meeting hall, masked faces staring down at him as Owlman stood over him, sword drawn. It happened in an instant, a mere blink of the eye. Still, Talon felt the sword slice into his neck, felt the immeasurable pain of each muscle and ligament being severed.

And then it was over, and his head toppled to the ground.

Talon was dead.

~•~

The disappointment that he felt upon waking was immeasurable.

Beheading was supposed to be fatal, unless a Talon was returned to their tube to heal. He should not have been able to just straight up regrow his own head.

And yet, as he reached up shaking fingers and felt his face, it was extremely clear that his head had indeed returned to his shoulders. But the returned head was not the only issue in the strange situation that he found himself in, although perhaps the returned head did make it worse.

Something smelled awful, the putrid stench flooding his nostrils and making him wish all the more that his head had stayed away once removed. It was dark too; dark and oddly wet.

When he tried to move, Talon realized that he was in fact trapped, pinned under something too heavy to easily push back. The smell grew worse when he tried to move, forcing him to hold his breath as he attempted to wriggle free, using his small frame to his advantage as he pushed upward. Or maybe it was down. For all he knew, he could be burrowing further into the rancid darkness to be lost forever.

If he could not die, maybe being lost forever would not be so bad.

After all, it was pretty clear that the Court no longer wanted him. Owlman had said he had malfunctioned. He was broken. Defective. He wished he could die.

Still, he continued to struggle against the nearly suffocating weight of whatever it was that surrounded him; it was impossible to tell what in the darkness. His hand pressed against a surface, pushing against it only to have it give way, plunging his hand into something wet and clumpy. When he pulled his hand back, the substance followed, spilling out over him and making him gag at the foul odor.

He struggled to get away, only to press against more surfaces and have them rupture, the smell growing worse and worse until, nauseated beyond belief and having vomited more than a few times, Talon gave up on struggling for the time being, simply curling up and hoping that some outside force would grant him aid.

Time passed, as Talon lay there, eyes closed and breathing slow, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Lost in the darkness, he really had no way of telling how long it had been before a small trickle of light filtered down onto him and then everything was shifting, moving, as if whatever he was trapped in had been picked up.

Everything turned upside down, and light burned into Talon’s eyes as he fell. He landed with a loud crashing sound, a gasp of pain slipping from his lips when black bags began to rain down around him. Scrambling to get out of the way, Talon barely had time to register the fact that he was in the back of a large truck, surrounded by piles of garbage bags and trash.

The falling bags came to a stop almost as soon as they started, leaving Talon panting and out of breath, holding onto the side of the truck as tightly as possible. Now that the sound of the falling bags was gone, he could hear people shouting, concerned voices filling the air. A hand touched his shoulder, and Talon spun around, eyes wide as he stared at the burly looking man peering into the truck bed at him.

Talon flinched away from his touch. A quick glance over the side showed a few more men gathered below, all looking oddly concerned. It was strange. No one needed to be concerned about him. He was a Talon. He could not die. Except he was on longer a Talon.

The man spoke, but Talon was not about to stay and listen. He needed to get back to the Court. Except, no. The Court had killed him. Still, he needed to get away. Needed to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.

So, Talon jumped from the truck and ran, ignoring the shouts sounding behind him. Where was he going? Honestly, Talon had no idea. He just knew that he needed to get away, needed to find somewhere safe to hide.

It quickly became clear to Talon that, while he had been sent into Gotham countless times on missions, he had never truly gotten to know the layout of the city. He was lost. But then again, could one truly be lost with nowhere to go?

People avoided him like the plague, which was confusing at first until he looked at himself in the glass window of a shop and saw that he was covered in what looked like dried blood. He was dressed in white too, something that just made the blood stand out that much more. A red line stretched around his throat, the only sign of his former beheading. When he touched the mark, it hurt. For some reason, everything seemed to hurt.

He felt tired for the first time since he had been originally frozen. It was strange. Still, there was nothing he could do about it now. There was nowhere to go. There was no one to go to.

Tired, in pain, and alone, Talon continued to wander the streets of Gotham, completely and utterly purposeless. Maybe someone would find him and discover a way to finally kill him for good, although that did seem unlikely.

Still, Talon could hope.

And, as day waned into night, Talon began to think that maybe, just maybe, that hope had some footing in reality.

A man approached him from the shadows, some kind of strange bag over his head. It was rather questionable, but Talon really was not the kind do judge, especially not when the man started talking rapidly in a clearly excited tone. Talon simply blinked at him, tilting his head to the side in clear confusion.

With a loud sigh, the man pulled off his mask, a grin spread across his lips as he gestured at Talon. “Come with me.” The man directed, and Talon, well, Talon was too tired to really protest.

Following orders was what he did. At least if he followed this man then he would no longer be wandering around with nowhere to go.

They walked for a while in silence, Talon stumbling along behind the man who walked at a deliberately slow pace, clearly intent on not overstraining the injured boy. Talon liked the silence. It was comforting. More comforting than being yelled at, that was for sure. But, all too soon, the silence ended as the man led him down some stairs and knocked on a rather dilapidated looking door.

The door swung open almost instantly as a green and pink haired kid came bounding out and launched themselves at the man. Talon stepped back, eyes narrowing suspiciously. The man did not look like someone he would trust anywhere near a child. And yet, through the doorway he spotted more suspicious looking people and another child, this one with long dark hair, hiding partially behind a man with green hair wearing a purple suit.

Everyone was talking, their voices fast and loud, too conflicting for Talon to even start to decipher. His head hurt just trying to single out one voice to listen to. He rubbed at his temples, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, the purple and pink haired boy was standing in front of him, head tilted to the side curiously. He spoke, but his words were too fast, too confusing for Talon to understand.

Talon shook his head, making the boy frown and look thoughtful for a moment.

Then, slowly and softly, the boy spoke again, clearly concentrating on remembering what to say. “Hi. I’m Veggie. You’re like me. And Gray.” He gestured back toward the other boy who was still trying to hide.

Talon blinked at him, eyes wide. “You… you… you speak my language.” He whispered, voice raspy and timid. It was all too evident that he was not used to talking.

Still, the boy, Veggie, smiled, grin lighting up his face like a radiant beam of sunshine as he reached forward and took Talon’s hand. “Come on. We’ll get you cleaned up. You kinda really smell. And you look like what happens when Papa makes the sparkly lights go off on the bad guys. But it’s okay. You’re home now. You’re safe.”

Talon hesitated. It could not be true. He was supposed to be dead. He was a malfunctioning killer. He did not deserve a home.

He did not deserve safety.

But then a timid hand slipped into his free one, and Talon looked up to see the other boy giving him a shy, tentative, smile.

“It’s okay. Veggie’s right. It’s safe… they killed Sir and made m-me safe. You can be safe too.” He whispered, stammering and hesitant, but soft and gentle nonetheless.

And so, Talon let himself be led into the house, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could trust these boys and the adults who clearly cared for them.

Maybe he would no longer have to kill.

Maybe he really was home.

Maybe he really was safe. 


End file.
